


Rehabilitation

by manateehugger



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Eventual Romance, Light Angst, Sabotage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-25 22:53:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3827965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manateehugger/pseuds/manateehugger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lt Vorberg finds himself trying to figure out who was behind a terrorist attack on the Vorbarra Sultana metro system</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Lieutenant Maximillian Vorberg waited as patiently as possible for the shuttle back to his bachelor flat. It was late and this was the last metro for the night. The Vorbarra Sultana metro would reopen again in a few hours though to transport soldiers, businessmen, and students both young and old from their homes to their respective places of work or study. 

Vorberg glanced over to consider the young woman who was seated on an otherwise vacant bench. She had black hair, asian features and wore an olive green jacket over black dress pants and button down shirt. She was also nose deep in her data pad. 

He’d seen her with some frequency the past few weeks, when they both left work far later than others. Judging by her shoes, comfortable flats he guessed she was on her feet all day. Her fingernails were short suggesting they were not an idle woman’s hands. Her skin tone and dress made him think she wasn’t from Barrayar, but he’d never heard her speak so he wasn’t sure of her accent and whether that would give him a hint as to how long she’d lived in the capital.

Vorberg also thought she looked too thin but he couldn’t tell what the cause of her malnutrition was. She wore no ring and kept late hours, so perhaps it was merely a lack of time or ability to cook and no one at home to make certain she ate properly.

I still have my instincts, even if I don’t have my full physical range of motion, Vorberg thought as he turned away from his analysis of the woman. 

It was something at least.

He shifted as he heard noises from the far end of the tunnel. Not merely to get a better look, but also because his legs were hurting him. The surgeon and doctors had told him he would heal up in a few months. He was doing the exercises they’d assigned to him dutifully but it hardly seemed to help. His legs still felt unsteady under him and he found he couldn’t stand for long periods. There was talk of keeping him permanently inside Cockroach Headquarters, as an analyst. He supposed in his darker moments that at least he wouldn’t have to worry about being shot again. Yet the idea that he was no longer himself, no longer in charge of his own body was disturbing. 

He hated the pity in the eyes of his parents when he visited them while on leave only two weeks ago. He felt his brother officers also gave him easier tasks, as if he weren’t merely enfeebled in body but that somehow his mind had gone as well.

Vorberg watched as a gangly group of teenage boys emerged from one of the side entrances. Five in all, two with facial hair while three were clean shaven. Vorberg also noticed the open bottles that they carried and wantonly drank from. 

It was illegal to bring alcoholic beverages unto the metro. But they didn’t seem to care as they loudly play fought and joked. 

He stood up straighter as one finally seemed to notice him. The boy nudged the fellow closest to him who also seemed to take in Vorberg’s uniform. The little band of teens grew quieter as they walked towards Vorberg and the woman. Vorberg’s mind flipped back to recent vid reports of gangs terrorizing the cripples and foreigners. Already his mind was playing out ways to dispatch them if they attacked. He’d run through scenarios like this when he was a courier. That was, when Vorberg really had to be on guard against overt and covert attacks from spies, local thugs and hired professionals. 

Adrenaline pumped through his veins and he glanced back to see what the woman was doing. Should he warn her to run? Vorberg didn’t know her, but as a member of the vor he felt compelled to protect any woman, even if she was an off-worlder. 

The boys passed quietly by. One paused and seemed ready to disturb the young woman, but at seeing Vorberg’s stern glare, he kept walking. 

Only after they settled down several benches away from Vorberg and the young woman did he relax. 

And what are you so on edge about, he asked himself. Of course they weren’t going to jump an officer in uniform in a station full of vidcams. 

It was just nerves he told himself as the metro entered the station. He entered the car after the young woman and sat down several rows behind her. They were the only ones in that car. The teens had stepped unto a different car.

Vorberg had ridden the metro with this woman a few times, but aside from her physical characteristics and what he could extrapolate from her appearance he knew nothing about her. The few times he’d had a chance to peek at her reading material he recognized only that she read kanji, suggesting she hailed from a planet where one of the primary languages was Japanese. But there were a half dozen of those. 

The olive green jacket looked as if it were truly of military origin but he couldn’t tell if it was in fact hers or perhaps borrowed from a male relative or lover.

As the metro continued its journey through the darkened tunnels of Vorbarra Sultana Vorberg allowed his mind to wander.

It was during a particularly unpleasant, imagined conversation with his superior about his recent analysis of a report that the metro suddenly jerked to a halt. He blinked and looked around the darkened tunnel. After a second the lights within the metro went out as well, then came back on more dimly. They were running on what limited battery power was present, Vorberg realized. 

He stood up and moved to the portable comm located in the car but found that he could get no signal. 

“Are we near any tunnel openings,” the woman asked in accented Russian.

He glanced back at her and then beyond her to see gray flecks, much like falling ash, floating past the windows.

“we’re not very far from the next station stop,” he said, glancing at the holomap on the wall which still glowed thanks to the battery power.

“Do you have a breathing mask,” she asked, she was already pulling one out of her bag.

Typically servicemen, except the most paranoid of ImpSec servicemen, did not carry breathing masks. But Vorberg had been a courier up until a few months ago and out of habit or, perhaps paranoia, he still carried one.

Still.

“There’s no need to panic miss. I’m sure there’s just a minor malfunction in the system,” Vorberg stated.

Besides, it was well known that it was much safer to wait for rescue inside the cars as opposed to climbing out along the tracks.

At least, he thought so until he noticed that something akin to gray smoke was entering the car. The young woman was pulling her breathmask on just as he was.  
“With no knowledge of if and when our saviors are to arrive I would feel much better if we minimized our exposure by removing ourselves from this situation. Please cover up your exposed skin areas. If you have gloves cover your hands,” the young woman said.

She moved over to the holomap on the wall.

“If we’re not so far from the next station stop then it would be wise to head there,” she stated.

Vorberg pulled on his gloves, located the emergency release door and opened it. They stepped out into the proverbial storm. It was only as he turned to offer an unneccesary hand to help the young woman out did he note all the faces pressed to the darkened windows.

There were other passengers on this metro.

“We have to get to the driver’s car,” Vorberg said firmly.

“Will that help,” she asked, also looking down the line of cars with faces peering out.

“Under Vorbarra Sultana Municipal Transit act 202a every metro is required to carry as many breath masks as there are seats,” Vorberg explained. He did not mention that this was due to a narrowly avoided terrorist attack which had almost come to fruition a few years back. 

He led the way to the front and only then noticed the driver, a small, wizened old man who seemed to be fighting with his own emergency exit door. The little old man signaled that he couldn’t get the door to open. There was no way to unlock the door from the outside, another mechanism put in place to protect against insurgents from an earlier civil war.

Vorberg considered the stunner strapped to his hip and moved to pull it out and remove the pack. If necessary he could make a small incendiary.

The young woman put a hand over his, “I know what to do.”

She reached into her bag again and pulled out a small kit. From within the kit she pulled a plasma-knife, used by surgeons to produce and instantaneously cauterize wounds. With that she took it to the window, slicing through it like butter.

Vorberg signaled to the little man to put on a mask. The conductor did so.

“My god, I always say if there’s one thing I’m glad of it’s that this city is crawling with well trained, and able bodied young men,” the old man said as Vorberg helped him climb out.

The young woman was already climbing in to find the masks. Vorberg almost called her back, there was no reason for her to exert herself when he - then remembered with a silent curse that he could not climb up into the cab half so easily as she had. He was embarrassed to wait for her to do all the work and yet recognized it was better to let her collect the masks. 

“I’m conductor Timofey Zaitsev, by the way,” the little old man mentioned in a friendly manner.

“Lieutenant Maximillian Vorberg. Can you tell me what’s happening here? Why did the power go out” Vorberg asked.

Zaitsev shook his head and looked around them. 

“I don’t understand it, everything was fine and then communications with the central control center went dead. If it was just a simple electrical outage the generators would have kicked in by now. The system has been thrown into emergency shut down, but we’ve had no warning that this was a drill. It has to be sabotage,” the little man stated firmly.  
Vorberg frowned and pulled out his service issued commlink.

“I should call this into headquarters if that’s true,” Vorberg stated.

Zaitsev nodded vigorously, “yes, but we should also be getting out of these tunnels, I can’t imagine the dust that’s swirling through here is any good for us even if we have masks to protect our breathing and faces.”

It was then the young woman appeared with armfuls of the masks.

“We should take them through inside rather than having passengers exposed by opening the doors first,” she said.

Vorberg didn’t argue.

Almost fifteen minutes later they had handed out masks to all the individuals on board and Zaitsev was leading them along the emergency path to an appropriate metro exit. 


	2. Chapter 2

Almost fifteen minutes later they had handed out masks to all the individuals on board and Zaitsev was leading them along the emergency path to an appropriate metro exit.   
Vorberg had already communicated the stopped car and mysterious dust to ImpSec headquarters. On-going investigations were being headed even now into what this all meant, or so he was told. He suspected that he would not be getting to sleep after all.

The young woman was walking beside him. He’d made sure she was on the safer, inside of the tracks. She had said little to him since they finished handing out the masks and had gotten the passengers moving. He didn’t know what she was thinking, but he was impressed at her level head. There were Vor women who would panic at the thought of rain ruining their hairstyles. He hardly knew how they would react to this.

They made it to the platform edge for the nearest station. The station itself was deserted, unsurprising considering the time of night. Vorberg wondered if ImpSec had men at the mouth of the station to turn people away. 

He and the young woman helped the passengers up unto the platform. Vorberg was uncertain about the safety of the lifts and suggested they take the stairs.

It was a long climb up, but fortunately even the elderly Zaitsev did well enough. Vorberg stuck to the back of the little group, ostensibly to look after any stragglers, but in truth his legs were hurting him as he climbed further.

It was damn annoying and he hated himself for it. The blasted physicians said he would be better by now. 

It was near the top that his foot faltered and he slipped. The young woman caught his arm and grabbed a handrail. She couldn’t bear his full weight, but his own instincts kicked in quickly enough and he was able to stabilize himself.

Vorberg glanced around and carefully noted that no one else had seen this exchange. No one else had any idea that the Imperial Security officer who was meant to offer aid in case of emergency was himself in need of help. 

Vorberg gave the young woman a nod of appreciation and she let his arm go. She offered no further comment as they made their way to the surface.

As they exited the metro into the open air there were indeed efficient ImpSec men and medtechs around the area who separated the men and women, got them into chemical showers and handed out new clothes while carefully bagging the ones which had been contaminated. One by one each person was also given a brief medical exam. 

One medtech waved an inflamma-wand in front of Vorberg, it was meant to outline his blood vessels and airways in order to locate any excess inflammation in the body due to chemical or biological attack. At least, that’s how he understood it. Whatever the tech saw it was enough to get Vorberg waved over to a man in military uniform wearing Major’s tabs. 

“Lieutenant, Identify yourself, please,” the man, whose tags bore the name Valkow ordered.

“Sir, I’m Lieutenant Vorberg. Here on planet-side duty at the Imperial Security Headquarters” Vorberg said snapping off a salute.

“At ease Lieutenant. I just had a few questions before you are taken off for further medical surveillance. What exactly did you see down there,” Major Valkow inquired.

“It looked to be gray dust, almost like ash that seemed to be blown towards us by something further down the tunnel, likely the exhaust fans down there which aid in keeping the rails from superheating. I did not locate the origin of the source. But I noticed that the flakes seemed to be heavier than air and fell downwards, until they hit the rails and exploded into gray smoke which floated upwards. It seemed that a chemical process involved. The smoke was able to easily pass into the metro cars despite the closed doors,” Lieutenant Vorberg explained.

“I see… I’ve heard additional reports from others exiting the metro at different sites. Many passengers were in worse condition than your group. It’s fortunate that you were present and quick thinking enough to get everyone their proper protective gear and away from further exposure. I should expect that you’ll be receiving a commendation for this,” Major Valkow added already nodding to a medtech to lead Vorberg to an EAV, emergency air vehicle. 

“I wasn’t alone. There was a young woman who was instrumental in leading the passengers to safety. I’m uncertain of her name but she has Asiatic features and judging by her accent I suspect she is from Ni Hon,” Vorberg stated. 

Damn. Why hadn’t he even asked her name?

Before tonight he’d thought it too forward. Besides, on a planet where men outnumbers women three to two she undoubtedly had her pick of open minded officers who had higher ranks and functional bodies.

The major favored Vorberg with an amused smile that Vorberg did not fully understand.

“I see, thank you,” Major Valkow stated already turning away to talk to an alarmed looking engineering tech.


	3. Chapter 3

Misaki Setsuna sat watching a nurse apply a paste to the hands of one of the women who had come off the metro with her. Mademoiselle Estelle Bourdeaux was a restaurant worker, a shift manager in fact. She had been the last to close up and leave a restaurant in the city’s capital that night and had chosen to take the metro home. 

While Misaki had warned the other passengers to cover themselves as much as possible this woman hadn’t had gloves, despite the cold weather. She’d left them behind at the restaurant that night by accident. The rash that had spread over her hands had appeared shortly after they left the metro.

Misaki was troubled by this, not only by the woman’s hands and by this recent terrorist attack but by the agent which seemed to have been used.

“Are there many other individuals who were on the metro at this hour,” Misaki asked.

She wasn’t entirely certain why they had all been admitted to the Imperial Military hospital. 

“A few,” the nurse noted carefully.

Misaki sighed at his cagey response. She understood she was a foreigner and therefore suspicious, but she was also a doctor. Misaki had been requested by her Betan mentor Alyssa Monroe to help with a project. The Countess Vorkosigan, recently turned Vicereinne of Sergyar had become interested in the increased health problems of individuals living close to Vorkosigan Vashnoi. 

While it was known that the radiation from the area was dangerous and people close by were more likely to develop cancer, their children also presented with a series of unusual cognitive and physical abnormalities. 

The countess had wanted to develop more effective treatments for these people than what traditional Barrayaran medicine provided. But due to the cultural fear of mutations she’d been having difficulty getting Barrayaran physicians to deal with the problem. After what Misaki understood to be a considerable amount of lobbying, the countess had received permission both from her husband and the emperor to invite a team of Betan physicians unto Barrayar to study the problem. The Betans would get a better understanding of the effects of long term low dose plasma radiation on a population and the Barrayarans, all of whom were poor in that area, would get free medical care.

Patients were flown up on a regular basis to Children’s Hospital of Vorbarra Sultana so the team could look at them. Of course the Barrayaran hospital staff required that these children use a separate entrance and be treated as if they were extremely contagious. Every surface the children and their families came in contact with was to be wiped down with antiseptics by the end of the day. Not that this did anything of course, except assuage the fears of people who ought to know better.

Dr. Monroe had argued that this made little sense. The hospital administrator had agreed with her. 

“Yes, we known in our heads that these behaviors are unusual, but there is also a deep fear that I do not think you as an off worlder could understand,” the man had explained.  
That had been the end of the argument.   
Except occasionally when Dr Munroe let out an outburst of “Barrayarans!”

For her part Misaki, whose own planet had briefly but brutally been consumed by a civil war while she was a child, had some sympathy for the people and their fears.  
Of course it seems silly for a person to scramble to hide under their bunk if someone jumps out and shouts “BANG!” but for the survivor with PTSD it was the only reasonable response.

Behaviors did not occur in isolation.

“Kostya, where did Yuri wander off to,” a male asked sticking his head into the room. By the look of him, between the slight paunch and heavy bags under his eyes, Misaki guessed he was the head nurse on the floor. 

“He got dragged off to help with the Colonel,” Kostya stated, then looked up from his task as if he weren’t certain he should have said that.

The head nurse shook his head, “like another man is going to help.”

He turned to leave.

“I’m sorry, was this colonel also exposed to the gas in the tunnels,” Misaki asked.

The head nurse frowned, “with all due respect Miss, this is not something I can discuss.”

“I’m sorry, I’m Dr. Misaki Setsuna, I have admitting privileges at Children’s Hospital in Vorbarra Sultana. I would show you my medical license but I’m afraid all of our things were confiscated,” Misaki explained.

“I see, well thank you for this information miss, but since you are a medical practitioner you will understand that I can’t discuss other patient’s cases out in the open like this,” the floor nurse stated leaving the room.

Misaki got up and followed him, “I bet the colonel wasn’t wearing a face mask when he was exposed to the gas, correct? I’ll bet he is now showing severe inflammation in his respiratory pathways. Based on your previous comment I suspect he was exposed and left untreated long enough that he has lost consciousness. The chemicals he was exposed to have gotten into his blood stream and up into his brain where he is now showing catatonia, rather than convulsions. Which means the gas attack was not a sarin or one of its organophospate derivatives.”

The head nurse seemed to stop breathing a moment.

“What did you say your specialty was,” he asked.

“Pediatric neurosurgery,” she admitted.

He looked her over, “you sure know a bit about toxins for a pediatric neurosurgeon.”

“I spent fifteen months on Remiel during that Galactic Police action as part of my mandatory military service for Ni Hon. The Syzygos Brotherhood that was running the pro-Manichaen government had no compunctions about trying to poison us or their own people,” Misaki stated.

The head nurse looked surprised at this, Misaki wasn’t sure if it was because she had been in the military or because she might be useful.

“So you think you’ve seen something like this before? Well, hm, come with me then. I’m Commander Edmund Frau by the way,” the head nurse stated.

They traveled down two levels and through a set of double doors to a small amphitheater where a group of men sat on the edges of their seats looking at two monitors. One held the image of an older man, if he were a galactic Misaki would have guessed he was in his eighties, but he was probably sixty. The other held a much younger man, perhaps in his early thirties. Both had developed erythema on their faces bodies.

“Admiral Vortugalov, this is Dr. Misaki Setsuna from the Betan medical team which Vicereine Vorkosigan requested to visit. Dr. Setsuna believes she can be of assistance,” Commander Frau stated.

The Admiral, a tired looking man in his mid-fifties looked her over with a frown. His two aides, flanking his sides did not seem favorable towards her either. 

She noticed then the low chatter coming from the sound systems, it seemed they could hear what was being said in the surgery rooms. 

“We don’t even know what they were exposed to,” one raged.

“Dr. Setsuna, our team has just declared Colonel Anders dead, are you suggesting you can resurrect him,” the Admiral asked in barely controlled anger.

“Is the inflammation already in the brain,” she asked.

“All over it, the doctors complained their inflamma-lites lit up the brain like a winterfair tree,” Vortugalov stated.

“And I’ll bet they’re seeing platelet activation in the brain. Did they report blood clotting,” she asked.

“Do you have a solution doctor or are you just here for the show,” Vortugalov asked.

“I’d give them Edofibrazole to tamp down the inflammation without dilating the blood vessels. You don’t want that now. Then hook them up to a cardiac filtration system to filter out what you can of the chemical. Tranteneal needs to be given by cisternal puncture to protect the brain. If they’re already unconscious from the chemical attack then the lungs are likely damaged beyond repair. Long term you’ll need to talk to them about artificial or vat grown organs. Are these your only patients,” she asked.

The admiral shook his head, “merely the most important… I would assume that your medical advice still applies to our other patients as well. Jacques, go pass the medical instructions along to the rest of the unit.”

Misaki wrote out her medical orders for the aide who scampered off to deliver them.

“I hope you actually know what you are talking about Dr. Setsuna,” the admiral stated darkly.

I hope so too, Misaki thought. Only, she was also worried about the implications if she was right.

They managed to stabilize the younger man, as Misaki predicted. The older one was not so lucky, as she had also, silently, expected. 

Admiral Vortugalov excused himself, he did not explain where he went. But Misaki saw him appear briefly on screen as the medical team in charge of Colonel Anders moved to take the body away.

Just then the door behind Misaki opened as the medical team on vid screen was moving to wheel the younger man, a Captain Vorpatril off to the Intensive Care Unit for observation. 

“Ivan,” a small man demanded as he took the stairs down towards Misaki, Commander Frau and the remaining aide, two at a time. 

Misaki was somewhat concerned the little man would fall as he galloped towards them but the fellow kept his balance. Behind him came a taller man flanked by two even larger men.

While the small man seemed to exude a frantic energy the taller one looked pale and corpse-like.

“Is that the mortician,” Misaki whispered to Commander Frau, indicating the tall man.

Why would he be here though? Perhaps asking after the appropriate way to dispose of the bodies, she supposed.

She also supposed that since the tall man was not a particularly muscular looking man it made sense for him to have two large associates… and yet, something seemed off.

“That is the emperor,” Commander Frau whispered studying her sideways. He offered the two men a stiff salute.

“Sire, Lord Auditor Vorkosigan, Lord Vorpatril has been stabilized and is being moved to the Intensive Care Unit,” Captain Jacques Lamelle, the remaining aide of Admiral Vortugalov reported as he jumped to stand at attention. 

“When can we see him,” Lord Vorkosigan demanded.

The old joke, where does a 300 kilo Galanthor sit, floated through Misaki’s mind as the captain seemed to panic at this request.

Lamelle glanced at the screen which no longer featured Admiral Vortugalov or Colonel Anders and back to the two men. 

Finally Captian Lamelle turned to look helplessly at her.

“I’m Dr. Setsuna,” she began, trying to explain where her authority came from, “Captain Vorpatril was placed in a medically induced coma to avoid further damage to the brain while his medical team tried to stave off the worst effects of the chemical attack. It would be best for Captain Vorpatril if we allow him to wake up naturally.” 

“And how long will that take,” Lord Vorkosigan asked impatiently.

Misaki shrugged, “considering his fat percentage and age along with the proposed length of time of exposure and the speed with which they can clear his body… I would say optimistically another 30 hours from now. But it could be as long as a week.” 

Lord Vorkosigan seemed ready to ask more questions when the emperor verbally cut in. It was much the way a patient older brother waited for his younger brother to take a slice of cake before he went to get one too.

“What has happened to Colonel Anders,” the emperor asked.

Again Captain Lamelle glanced over to Misaki. Commander Frau for his part had accepted the role of statue with an unusual vigor and now seemed incapable of shifting out of his rigid stance at attention, much less of speaking in coherent sentences.

“I’m sorry, Colonel Anders did not survive,” she stated simply.

There would be reports enough to go into the reasons why he didn’t survive, advanced age, level of exposure, delayed treatment. She didn’t know If they wanted to hear that much.

The emperor nodded slightly but did not allow any expression of sorrow unto his face. Lord Vorkosigan looked somewhat chagrined, likely for his focus on Captain Vorpatril.  
After a brief silence, and perhaps as an attempt to redeem himself Captain Lamelle spoke.

“Sire, there is some news on the possible culprits. Though I don’t think it’s appropriate for all ears,” Captain Lamelle stated.

“I will escort Dr. Setsuna back towards her appropriate floor,” Commander Frau offered quickly.

The emperor nodded slightly, “We thank you for your help Dr. Setsuna. We hope to speak with you later when there is more time.”

While Misaki was piecing together the meaning of that line Commander Frau ushered her out and back towards room she shared with the restaurant worker. 

But when they arrived Misaki found she had a visitor.

“Ambassador Nakahara,” Misaki said looking the man over.

He was a man in his early forties who sported a most in vogue mustache which he wore with an immaculate suit. It made Misaki realize she was still dressed in the oversized surgical shirt and pants that she’d been handed when they took her clothes at the mouth of the metro. 

“There you are, do you know I almost had a heart attack wondering if you’d been kidnapped and murdered? Do you know what that would have done to my career,” Nakahara demanded.

Commander Frau, who spoke no Japanese, only understood that they knew each other and that Nakahara had been let in due to his role as Ni Hon ambassador. He also noticed the Barrayaran guards present who would watch and if necessary, remove Nakahara from the building if the man got too ‘curious’. Commander Frau muttered something to Misaki and left her and the ambassador.

“Hardly that, I was on the metro going home for the night when the cars were stopped and a gray gas started seeping into the car,” Miskai explained.

She wondered vaguely why she was even being allowed to talk to anyone. Surely the Barrayarans would want this situation to be kept quiet until it was resolved and the culprits found. But maybe they thought she didn’t know anything. Or that she did know something and they wanted to hear it.

“A gas? You mean a chemical weapon? Do they know who did it,” Nakahara demanded in horror.

“It sounds like the who or what is still under investigation. But I know they haven’t seen this agent before… but it seems familiar,” Misaki admitted.

Nakahara frowned, “how so?”

Misaki wondered how appropriate it was to discuss the only recently discontinued Ni Hon chemical weapons program in a public place.

“The agent first appeared as a solid. It was slightly smaller than the ash you would expect to see from a wildfire. But once it was super-heated by touching down on the rails the ash would almost disintegrate into a gaseous state. The substance sublimates, going from solid to gas without a liquid intermediate, just like dry ice. It also causes severe irritation and subsequent inflammation with whatever biological matter it comes into contact with and that includes both my new roommate’s hands and the lungs and organs of individuals. It crosses from lung to blood stream and finally into the brain in a relatively slow period of almost two hours, hence why some of these patients will live tonight,” Misaki explained.

It did not seem that Nakahara understood.

Misaki sighed, “it reminds me of another chemical I’ve seen. I think whoever released this has gotten a hold of Ni Hon chemical weapons. This looks like the trademarks of Yama18.”

Nakahara’s eyes bugged out at this and he only narrowly managed to avoid jumping out of his seat. The Barrayaran guards who were idling nearby seemed to take an interest in their conversation.

But Nakahara simply laughed and smiled like she’d just told him a joke. The guards seemed less interested.

“You cannot be serious,” Nakahara said with a smile.

“I’m concerned that our weapons have somehow gotten out,” Misaki stated.

“Don’t say! Don’t say that word, you’ll draw attention and Buddha knows they might be recording us. Say a different word like, like presents,” Nakahara insisted.

“I’m afraid our presents have gotten out,” Misaki asked dubiously.

“Don’t say that either! You shouldn’t spread rumors like that when you don’t even know the truth. It’s possible the Barrayarans or the Cetagandans or Komarrans or whoever else might have created their own, ah, presents which are similar to ours,” Nakahara stated.

“You don’t know that that’s the case,” Misaki said in exasperation.

“You don’t know that it isn’t the case. Dr. Setsuna, you are a surgeon, you are good at surgery and-and medical things. I am a politician, I handle foreign relations, policy and represent the Ni Hon people. How am I to do this with you undermining me by implying that our national security is not so secure? Who would be stealing our chemical we-presents? Unless you’re implying that all Ni Hon citizens are untrustworthy and have been stealing and selling them, is that what you are suggesting” Nakahara demanded.  
“I think I should inform someone,” Misaki stated.

She’d thought someone would ask her why she was offering treatment options or what she thought the chemical agent was. But no one had questioned her on it. The soldier in the tunnels had only cared that whatever it was was dangerous and that they needed to get people out. The medical teams had seemed happy enough that someone seemed to know what they were dealing with and how to treat it. The emperor and Vorkosigan had only been interested in how that affected their people. But no one had asked what it was, so she hadn’t volunteered the information.

Still, she felt guilty.

“For what purpose? I trust you’ve given them a treatment regime? If it works I’m sure they won’t care why it works. Besides, will making baseless accusations about where these terrorists got the chemical agent from matter to the victims here? Will it change anything? Of course not,” Nakahara scoffed.

“It might narrow down the list of possible perpetrators,” she supposed.

Thought she wasn’t sure that was true. There was no reason to suspect that a Ni Hon citizen had done this, what was the motive?

“Setsuna, I am going to tell you not to report this, not for me, but for your planet. Do you know what kind of public fallout we would get for this? What would it say to our trading partners or our fellows in the United Galactic Federation? We’re trying to get a security seat on the UGF and you want to tell them we’re not secure,” Nakahara demanded.  
“I don’t want any extra needless death,” Misaki stated.

“Would knowing the chemical agent matter if they have a treatment regimen in place? I mean knowing or not knowing where the compound came from isn’t going to affect its availability. Who knows, maybe that was the only batch the terrorists had. Maybe it doesn’t matter because it’s all gone,” Nakahara suggested.

Misaki started to say something else but Nakahara cut in.

“How difficult do you want to make things for your family? Your uncle is a member of the Imperial Diet and your mother serves the current president as a minister of justice. Do you know what would happen to public opinion if our people found out our presents were not effectively guarded? There would be panicking in the streets, probably looting and calls for the government to step down. You would cause a major scandal whether you were right or wrong. If you are right it means the current administration is too incompetent to protect its citizens, if you’re wrong you look like a sensationalist hell bent on getting her time in the spot light even if it means causing a massive panic,” Nakahara insisted.

“Ambassador Nakahara, the truth is self-sustaining it will stand even and in spite of your unwillingness to support it,” Misaki declared angrily.

Nakahara blinked at this, then tried again more gently, “I understand you are very passionate about helping people Dr. Setsuna. But you must be tired, you’re not thinking clearly. Have you eaten recently? You should take better care of yourself. Come, why don’t we go down to the cafeteria.”

Misaki considered angrily brushing off the man’s suggestions. But in truth she had been ignoring the rumblings of her stomach since she was waiting for the metro. It had also been a hell of a day removing a glioblastoma from one patient and fixing a chiari malformation in another.

“Yes. I suppose,” she agreed, allowing herself to be led towards the lifts.

As they were set to get down, the doors to the lift opened and out stepped a familiar face.

The distracted Lieutenant from last night nearly collided with Nakahara. Misaki noticed that he was in uniform once more rather than in the refugee clothes they’d been handed upon exiting the metro. His last name, Vorberg, still neatly pinned to his chest. She supposed that since he had been an actual witness to the attacks and was a trusted member of the military that he was already being pressed back into service. 

Lieutenant Vorberg stopped just in time to avoid bowling the smaller man over and losing the sweet smelling bag he was carrying in the process. 

Vorberg glanced from Nakahara to her, “Dr. Setsuna, I’m surprised you’re still awake.”

She was briefly surprised that he knew her name. But then perhaps he’d seen it somewhere while discussing the events of last night. 

“There were certain responsibilities that needed to be carried out first. Then certain biological inevitabilities that needed to be dealt with,” Misaki said.

The Lieutenant and Nakahara both blinked at her. She could forgive the Lieutenant who seemed to be running on adrenaline and caffeine for the moment.

“We wanted to go down to the cafeteria to eat,” she clarified.

Lieutenant Vorberg winced at this, “I’m afraid it’s closed at this hour. I tried to go there myself a little while ago. Unfortunately I don’t believe they are allowing anyone exposed to the Vorbarra Sultana Metro… incident to leave just yet. Though I suppose your…relative could go out.”

Vorberg seemed to consider Nakahara more carefully as he made the last statement.

“We are not related, Lieutenant,” Nakahara stated with some irritation.

But you’d like to be since it would give you plenty of connections for your social climb, Misaki thought. The ambassador was an ambitious man. 

“I see,” the lieutenant said, his features settled into an unreadable expression.

“Ambassador Kenji Nakahara is the current diplomat for Ni Hon, my homeworld,” Misaki explained.

The lieutenant looked mildly confused. She imagined he didn’t have any idea who she was or who she was related to and it undoubtedly seemed odd that the ambassador would come visit an ordinary citizen.

“Well as I am certain it will take time to send out for food and since I already have some, perhaps you and your… ambassador would care to dine with me,” the lieutenant suggested.

Nakahara, who was still attempting to push his agenda on Misaki and did not want an audience moved to decline the offer.

“I wouldn’t wish to cause you any undue hardship lieutenant, but if it isn’t too much trouble I would gladly accept your offer,” Misaki stated.

“It would be no hardship for me. Please, follow me. We can find a room where I can set these items down.”

The lieutenant offered her a smile. Not a large one, but it was still the first time she’d seen him smile. On the occasions when she chanced to see him waiting for the metro the lieutenant had always seemed to be a man carrying a heavy burden on his shoulders. From what Misaki had seen Barrayar did little to encourage emotional expression in its citizens, especially its men. Aside from the stigma of mental illness on Barrayar there seemed to be a general dislike of men who asked for help. As a result her patients and their parents presented with headaches and pains. The Greekie patients, especially the girls occasionally described having visions of ghosts. The Betan psychiatrists on the team believed this was a culturally specific expression of depression rather than schizophrenic episodes or general hallucinations. 

From the way the lieutenant walked and stood Misaki knew there was something wrong with his legs. But she imagined that any attempts to call attention to his problem would be met with hostility. Men in particular had to be self-sufficient here. This belief that he was defective or useless for whatever injuries he had sustained and failed to recover from undoubtedly contributed to the lieutenant’s gloom. 

In spite of this, he was a reasonably attractive man, and wonderfully competent from what she’d seen last night. Coupled with his ability to accept her judgments without doubting her because she was a woman, and an off worlder, was also appreciated. Misaki wasn’t sure why he didn’t have a ring on his finger already.

They located an empty conference room where the lieutenant began to divide up the food.

“Thank you, I have no appetite,” Nakahara stated looking pained at being here.

Misaki wondered if he would excuse himself. No, she decided, he would sit here and suffer silently through this if it meant finding another chance to convince her. 

Truthfully, Misaki knew her resolve was weak anyway. Nakahara wanted her to avoid admitting that the chemical weapons were likely Ni Hon in origin in order to avoid public outrage and scandal. He was not suggesting that they ignore the issue. Misaki imagined that Nakahara would leave the hospital, return to his office and craft a carefully worded and fully encrypted message to his superiors about the possibility of chemical agents being stolen and resold to arms dealers. If this was true and the culprits were caught then Nakahara could expect to receive a commendation at least and likely a promotion. He was invested in solving the mystery of what these chemical weapons were and where they had originated in order to prevent anything similar to the event in the Vorbarra Sultana metro from happening again. He was also invested in preventing any loss of face for the Ni Hon government. 

If a treatment protocol was in place for the victims of Yama18 then what good would it do to know the name of the chemical weapon? The Barrayarans could already deduce the chemical makeup of the agent from what was left of it in the metro. Ni Hon didn’t have an effective cure for the weapon either so it wasn’t as if the Barrayarans were missing any secret solutions. Would it help locate the perpetrators? She didn’t know.

But she did know that Confucian thought still held heavy influence in how the people viewed the government on Ni Hon. In order to attain social harmony the government was required to protect its citizens from harm and to act with benevolence towards them, in return citizens were to obey and respect the government. For it to be known that the Ni Hon government was accidentally or purposely selling off, losing or abusing dangerous chemical weapons would cause massive rioting at the least and a coup in the worst scenario. 

The recent civil war had occurred because western oriented rebels had accused the government of corruption and nepotism. Their accusations were correct to an extent, as they were in any government. But Ni Hon actually boasted a relatively low corruption index on the UGF transparency scale. They had demanded a more Betan system of government be put in place. They had not used Betan methods to attain their goal but had relied on plasma cannons, needle grenades and Yama18 to overthrow the government. While these rebels had been quashed the death toll was enormous and the planet was still healing.

Misaki had been a child then and she and her younger sister had been sent to the Northern continent where their maternal grandparents lived and where the fighting didn’t impact them directly. She had been fortunate while others had not. 

She did not want to be the cause of another violent attempt to overthrow the government. 

She wondered if the preservation of social harmony was more important than the truth.

“It’s all vat grown,” Lieutenant Vorberg put in hastily.

She looked up at him then back down at the food the lieutenant had carefully set out.

“Ah, thank you,” she said offering him a wan smile. The lieutenant seemed to enjoy French food it seemed, or perhaps that was the closest or only restaurant open. 

“I hope this is alright, I read that you were from Ni Hon and had done your medical fellowships on Beta Colony. I wasn’t certain, does that affect your diet,” the lieutenant asked.

“You read about me,” Misaki asked in surprise.

But of course, he was an intelligence officer based on his tabs, wasn’t he? She wondered for the first time if those occasional meetings in the metro been for surveillance purposes. But surely she wasn’t that interesting.

“I‘m sorry that was extremely inappropriate of me to mention,” the lieutenant stated looking horrified.

“I only read through your file today as I was asked to look over everyone who was impacted by the chemical attack tonight. It was purely professional and I would never, ever have looked at your information for any other reason. My word as Vorberg,” the lieutenant promised.

“I understand. You were just doing your job,” Misaki said carefully.

His duty was to his service, his planet and his emperor before it was to anything or anyone else. She understood and accepted that as reasonable. Of course she was not fully clear on why he was going through the files of victims. Perhaps the Barrayarans thought the chemical attack was an inside job or that the perpetrators may have fled in the guise of confused victims of the attack, mixing and mingling with the innocent to hide their guilt. 

She also thought that any anger she expressed towards him would only delay them actually eating. The beleaguered man had already offered her food and she doubted that he had a long break in which to eat.

“Is this gigot d’agneau pleureur,” she asked indicating what she thought was a miniature container of lamb surrounded by potatoes.

The lieutenant nodded, “do you like it?”

“I’ve had it before. There’s a little restaurant near my apartment that serves the most savory lamb I’ve ever tasted. I’ve been pleasantly surprised at the range of dishes and delicacies on Barrayar. That and the landscape is beautiful here. I was out camping in the Yasenevo forests about two weekends ago with a friend of mine and the flowers were in bloom, it was magnificent,” she described. 

Lieutenant Vorberg smiled, “do you enjoy camping?”

“I’m not opposed to it. But I admit that after fifteen months on Remiel without a hot shower I am perfectly happy to stay in civilization,” she admitted with a brief smile.  
Lieutenant Vorberg blinked at this, “Yes I – I’ve heard that Ni Hon requires its citizens to serve two years in the military. But for them to send you to Remiel...”

“I volunteered,” she admitted. 

Vorberg shook his head.

“But surely as a medical professional you were nowhere near the front lines,” Vorberg stated, looking to her for affirmation.

“Remiel was guerrilla warfare, there were no front lines or areas behind the lines,” Misaki said carefully.

She studied her fork.

Confucius had believed that forks and knives had no place at the table, they were too war-like. Chop sticks were his ideal eating utensil. Not that the utensils people used truly impacted their behavior, Misaki thought darkly.

Lieutenant Vorberg seemed to recognize that he had upset her but was uncertain as to how to gracefully change the subject looked down at his food.

“But surely you’ve had your own experiences in battle, lieutenant,” Nakahara piped in.

Lieutenant Vorberg glanced over at Nakahara as if he’d briefly forgotten the other man was in the room. 

“I was just a courier,” Lieutenant Vorberg stated flatly. 

The silence extended and the tension built. 

It was a shock and a relief when someone suddenly entered.

“Dr. Setsuna, there you are,” Lord Vorkosigan stated looking triumphant.

He gave a nod to Lieutenant Vorberg then looked over at Nakahara. To him the little man offered a slight bow.

“Dr. Setsuna, I apologize for the intrusion but I must request your presence,” Lord Vorkosigan stated.

“I see,” Misaki said standing up slowly.

“As a Ni Hon citizen and ambassador it is my duty to accompany her as well,” Nakahara put in immediately.

Lord Vorkosigan seemed to consider this statement then finally shrugged, “as you wish ambassador.” 

Lieutenant Vorberg was looking down at the untouched food in front of Misaki.

“I can put the left overs away for you for later, if you would like,” the lieutenant offered.

“Thank you Lieutenant, that would be appreciated,” Misaki stated distractedly.


	4. Chapter 4

Miles studied the young woman as they headed back across the hospital towards the lifts and down to a meeting room. The woman was of medium build, probably too thin to survive a major famine and reserved. Her oversized attire, something likely obtained after being forced to shed her own clothes concealed much of her body.

“Did I interrupt anything,” Miles asked delicately.

He wasn’t sure what he’d witnessed in there, if it was an interrogation or an attempt at cross-cultural wooing. Still, if Vorberg was making time for an off-worlder Miles would have trusted him to conscientiously report it so the girl could be properly vetted. 

Dr Setsuna sighed, “Ambassador Nakahara and I were headed down to the cafeteria when we met Lieutenant Vorberg who informed us the cafeteria was closed at this hour. He was kind enough to offer me some of his own food.”

Miles winced, he’d already ruined Vorberg’s military career. He didn’t want to be responsible for ruining Vorberg’s love life as well. 

Then Miles thought of Ivan lying unconscious in the ICU. That resolved any qualms. Miles would solve this case with Vorberg and afterwards, he would help the man with his wooing. But not before then.

They entered into a new meeting room where Dr Valentin Krishnov, the coroner sat, as well as Dr Anton Fromm, the toxicologist and Dr Weddell Canaba, the biochemist sat. Gregor sat quietly towards the back, he was leafing through some other flimsies.

While the emperor was personally interested in this case it seemed there were other concerns he had to address as well. 

“Sire, gentlemen,” Miles greeted them.

“Ambassador Nakamura, Dr. Setsuna, please sit,” Gregor stated waving to two empty chairs.

The pair did so.

“We were beginning to discuss the chemical attacks in the Vorbarra Sultana metro last night and the aftermath,” Gregor explained.

“We had hoped Dr. Krishnov and Dr. Fromm would give their presentations first. I imagine this will be a repetition of what Dr. Setsuna already knows, so We will ask her to be patient with Us,” Gregor stated.

Miles had suggested they sit the doctor down and simply fast penta her. It would cut through any confusion and clarify her understanding of the chemical agent, whatever the hell it was and maybe give them an idea of where this weapon had come from. Miles had his suspicions based on the doctor’s familiarity with it. 

She might even appreciate the fast penta since it meant she couldn’t be culpable for anything she said under it. Dr Setsuna couldn’t lie for political gain and couldn’t be punished for failing to lie. Everyone would win.

But Gregor seemed to think that while this was the most direct way, and probably the method he would have used with a Barrayaran citizen it was not something he could order on an off worlder without considering political repercussions. Dr. Setsuna was apparently well connected back on her home world. Which was unfortunate.

Gregor seemed to hope that her conscience would push her to talk by discussing the victims. In either case Miles had made sure the ImpSec guards outside had some fast penta just in case.

Dr. Krishnov stood, “Sire, gentlemen, I have the reports about the impact of this mysterious chemical on our patients both living and dead.”

“Patients exposed to the chemical responded with macular eruptions, erm, rashes along the epidermal layer of the skin under brief periods of exposure. More serious results occurred when individuals were exposed for a longer period of time. When untreated for long periods, the epidermal layer not only became inflamed but appeared to die off, with skin sloughing in certain patients,” Dr Krishnov continued.

He showed images of such events in patients on the holoboard. Miles felt a bit nauseous looking at them. Nakahara and Gregor looked mildly disgusted as well. The doctors showed a focused clinical interest. Canaba seemed more fascinated than Miles approved of. 

“There was also internal damage to lungs and airways as a result of exposure, and if left untreated the chemical permeated the brain and induced coma and death, no seizures were noted,” Dr. Krishnov informed the group.

“Similarly, levels of macrophage production and T-cell counts were increased as a result of the exposure, this is standard for an inflammatory, short term immune response,” Dr. Fromm picked up.

“There was an increase in troponin levels, indicating cardiac damage. Creatinin levels were increased indicating kidney damage. But these levels were low compared to ALI markers which were far above typical physiological levels as were NSAB markers which indicated both lung and brain injury, respectively,” Fromm explained glancing down at his hastily written notes.

The man looked nervous, not surprising since his tabs indicated he was only a captain and had likely been put on this case as he was on duty at the time. Likely the man had never expected to report to the emperor. He would get used to it, with some prodding Miles decided.

“It is believed that the damage to the brain is what causes death in the patients who have died thus far. I don’t understand how the chemical is able to move through the blood brain barrier in this way,” Dr. Krishnov admitted.

“I haven’t had much time to study the chemical composition of the molecule but based on this evidence it seems the chemical agent is made up of short chains of carbohydrates with no major ionic charges,” Dr. Canaba stated, it seemed he was tired of being ignored. 

Gregor acknowledged this with a slight hand wave, suggesting he heard the statement but was not ready to switch topics yet.

“Gentlemen, further thoughts,” Gregor inquired.

Fromm, the younger of the two medical doctors, and eager to please spoke, “we’re starting tests to ascertain whether the chemical used is Barrayaran in origin or otherwise. But those results will be slow.”

“Or they won’t arrive at all. That is, if the poison isn’t something in our databases. We can’t test what we found in the metro against what we don’t know about,” Miles put in.

“Nor can We ascertain appropriate methods of clean up and when it will be safe to allow Our citizens back into the metro,” Gregor noted, not looking at Dr. Setsuna.

Not that it mattered; she seemed uncomfortable by this without Gregor’s gaze falling on her. 

But then Betan physicians performed an oath not merely to do no harm to their patient, but to provide the best level of care possible. Even if the young woman had technically been trained elsewhere she’d done her fellowships through St Elizabeth’s in the Trillian district on Beta. That meant something didn’t it?

But she didn’t say anything

So come on, spill, Miles thought. It wasn’t appropriate to throttle a woman, he reminded himself. He wondered vaguely if he could use his leverage as his mother’s son and this young woman’s benefactor on planet to convince her. But what could he say? If you don’t tell the truth I won’t let you attend to my people? Certainly there had to be an angle he could work.

“I would politely disagree sir, in the event of an unknown chemical weapons attack the Ni Hon military has a guide for appropriate clean up and disposal of such substances. It was adapted from the Betan Scientific Advisory Board’s own guide. I can of course provide a copy to your people,” Dr. Setsuna stated. 

Well what the hell did that mean? Was she hinting at the appropriate clean up because she knew what the chemical was or did she not know at all? This Ni Hon woman was far too coy for him and Miles did not have the patience for these games.

He caught Gregor’s eye and tried to signal that they had fast penta outside. For God’s sake it would speed everything up.

Gregor made a palm down gesture, wait, just one more try.

“Perhaps you have an idea of what we’re dealing with Dr. Setsuna,” Gregor asked offering her a small smile and a general look of encouragement.

Nakahara looked particularly on edge now, his eyes darting back and forth between the doctor and Gregor. He knew something at least, Miles decided wondering how much of an international incident it would cause if both of the Ni Hon were fast penta’d. Then he decided he didn’t care. Gregor could smooth that over.

“I… think I couldn’t tell you for a fact what that chemical was. It would be inappropriate for me to be making such guesses with people’s lives in the balance,” Dr. Setsuna stated looking away.

Vaguely Miles remembered some saying by Ekaterin’s aunt about the Ni Hon.

“They’ll tell you they speak Russian very poorly even when they’re fluent,” she explained as a way to illustrate the Ni Hon cultural norm to display extreme humility. No time to respect such cultural niceties now, Miles thought.

“Well it’s too late for that, we’re already treating people based on your suggestions,” Miles pointed out ruthlessly.

“I’m certain I could solve this mystery with just a sample of the chemical and a few hours in my laboratory,” Dr. Canaba chimed in. 

Clearly he was bored as a mere bystander.

Miles gave him a look and the man settled down. 

“We are given to understand that vital information can slip through even an expert witness’s mind under extreme stress such as surviving a terrorist attack. Perhaps it would be helpful for you to undergo a fast penta treatment,” Gregor suggested genially.

Nakahara looked horrified. Dr. Setsuna winced. 

So you do know something, Miles thought triumphantly.

Already a major was bringing in the necessary supplies.

“This is extremely inappropriate. Dr. Setsuna has just undergone a traumatizing event, you can’t simply,” Nakahara began indignantly.

Oh, that was a bad choice of words, Miles thought watching Gregor with glee.

“Ambassador Nakahara, while We intend to provide every courtesy possible to you and the other Ni Hon citizens I will not do so at the expense of Barrayaran lives. We are not suggesting that either of you are liars, only that under the circumstances perhaps this will be easier for Dr. Setsuna to recall information,” Gregor stated.

Well the emperor couldn’t call people liars, but Miles had no compunctions about such words. He settled in to watch. Nakahara looked as if he were sitting on a mildenflaur, a particularly thorny plant which grew on south continent.

“Do you have any allergies, ma’am,” the Major asked politely even as he slapped an allergy patch on the doctor’s arm. 

For her part Dr Setsuna sat back in her chair and looked thoroughly disgusted and disheartened by the development.

“No allergies, but I do have an idiosyncratic response,” she admitted.

“Not crying I hope,” the Major asked politely.

Gregor’s foot ceased tapping. Perhaps he was thinking about galactic opinion on Barrayar and the assumptions people would make when a young woman walked out with red eyes and a tear streaked face after being in a room with a group of Barrayaran men. 

Miles didn’t trust Nakahara to stop such rumors if they started. The man was a consummate politician, always moving to enhance his own government’s goals even at the expense of others. 

“No. Just some excessive swearing. Should I mention now that anything I say under fast penta are solely my own opinions and do not represent the views of Ni Hon,” Dr. Setsuna asked with only a hint of sarcasm. 

“We appreciate that fast penta often leaves individuals without their usual tact,” Gregor stated politely.

The Doctor muttered something but Miles didn’t catch the phrase. 

It wasn’t until after the major applied the fast penta and began asking the easy beginner questions did things become interesting. 

“Do you have knowledge of the chemicals released in the Barrayaran metro,” the major asked.

“Knowledge? Do you mean facts or information? Do you mean familiarity with the chemicals? Mm no to the first question, I don’t know beyond a shadow of a doubt what the chemical agent was which was released. But I’m familiar with the properties and impact on biological matter of a chemical agent, code named Yama18 which I believe was used,” Dr Setsuna admitted, rubbing her head as if it hurt.

“So you lied earlier when you said you didn’t know,” Dr. Fromm stated with conviction and a bit of smugness. Was the young doctor afraid the foreigner would out shine him, Miles wondered. Either way Miles signaled for him to be quiet.

“Lied? Hardly, though I suppose I could have lied. It’s not so hard here with certain men to convince them that I’m stupid,” Dr Setsuna admitted, her voice took on a theatrically feminine tone as she continued, “oh, sorry I didn’t see what happened I was thinking about babies, and chocolate. I was too hysterical to remember what happened, it’s a good thing a man was there to fix everything. I got confused and tried to bake a cake, I don’t know why I was allowed out of the kitchen. All the blood was traveling down to my baby maker and away from my brain so I don’t even know what happened.”

Gregor winced and signaled to the major to get things back on track.

“Dr. Sestuna, please tell us what Yama18 is,” the Major asked.

“Mm, where to begin… well if you could show me where… ah, there it is,” the doctor stated getting up and striding over to the plasma screen along the wall, she flipped it on, gave it a second to warm up and proceeded to enter a string of words. 

This caused an image of a molecule to pop up. Miles didn’t understand much about chemical structures but this seemed enlightening to Dr. Canaba who sat up a bit more.  
Dr. Setsuna turned back to the group, “alright listen up my bitches, you better strap on a helmet because I’m about to drop some knowledge. This is Yama18, its true chemical name is diacetyl-isocyanate, it is a derivative of the chemical compound methyl cyanate, an early atomic intermediate to certain pesticides. The acetyl groups are useful in increasing the permeability of the molecule through membranes, allowing them to enter the blood brain barrier with relative ease. Though of course the general lipophobic structure makes its course to the brain slow going especially in the respiratory tract where it typically enters initially. It also explains why it is described as ‘burning up the lungs’ before the victim of this chemical attack succumbs. The purpose in allowing the molecule to spend so much in the lungs is of course to allow the initial victim to breath out some of the compound and spread it to any of his or her rescuers. This drug also causes rashes which can similarly be life threatening if left unchecked and is able to bind and reside in clothing for up to two hours after exposure. Hence why removal of all attire is absolutely fucking necessary.”

“Is there a treatment,” Dr. Krishnov inquired.

“Hell no there’s no treatment, because that would be too smart for government work! The highest standard of care is still purely palliative, prevent entry of the drug into the brain by diminishing access and removing the drug through a blood cycler. Lung amputation and regrowth is also warranted in about 40% of cases and is always done if there is even a question,” Dr. Setsuna explained.

“Well why the hell isn’t there a cure,” Miles demanded. Surely some idiot wouldn’t unleash a doomsday weapon on his own people without a way to stop it? 

No. He paused in thought, his experiences as a mercenary admiral and Barrayar’s collective experience showed that the path to hell was definitely paved with good intentions and misplaced ingenuity.

“Because the whole Y chromosome has something to prove! Back in the pre-atomic age if a man disagreed with another man then someone was getting a live snake shoved up his ass. Flash forward to the creation of guns and suddenly that wasn’t so easy. So men created new and more gruesome ways to murder the shit out of each other for a variety of idiot reasons. And you know that most wars are fought by your 18-20 something population which is a serious problem because in men the frontal lobe doesn’t finish developing until the mid twenties. This means you’ve got a heavily armed group of guys who don’t have a very good understanding of long term consequences in charge of deciding which mother fucker gets nuked. Then you wonder why things like this are created,” Dr Setsuna exploded.

Gregor signaled to the Major to get things back on track. Right, despite this debacle the emperor still had other tasks to complete. 

“Do you know who might have released this chemical? Do you have any information on why it was released,” the major asked.

Dr. Setsuna waved a hand, “the why is simple enough. Some asshole terrorist wanted to cause terror. As for the who, I’m not sure. This chemical was only created recently and its production and use was restricted to Ni Hon itself. Its subsequent storage and detoxification process has also been kept strictly on Ni Hon proper and has not been handled by any of its province planets. The purpose of course is to limit the possibility of it getting into the wrong hands.”

“Of course, but things happen,” the major stated.

“Yes, Major, things happen. About ten years ago a terrorist group known in English as ‘Buddha’s hand’ was able to obtain Yama18 and released it in a subway system in Akago prefecture, in an attack very similar to the one last night. These assholes named their group after a man who preached harmony and peace which is like, the dumbest horseshit – but I’m getting distracted from my story. Anyway, most of these members died due to exposure to the chemical themselves, they did not bring adequate protective gear when carrying out their plan. Though whether this was an act of stupidity or whether it was meant to be an act of deliberate suicide is up for debate. The rest were rounded up and summarily executed. This was followed by mass rioting in the streets with calls for an overthrow of the Ni Hon Diet. Not in support of this group but in response to a rumor, the rumor that the Ni Hon government was not destroying its stockpile of chemical weapons but was saving it in case of future rebellions on the part of the people. This was of course false, but the debacle caused a great loss of face for the Ni Hon government which is still recovering. Needless to say they want nothing to do with the release of Yama18,” Dr. Setsuna explained.

Ah, so you’re covering for someone else, Miles decided. 

“You’re worried about the repercussions of this chemical attack on your own home world if it gets out that Yama18 was used, is that it,” Gregor inquired. He did not sound angry or confrontational, considering the circumstances he was very calm. 

“Considering the previous response of the people I do worry that there would be more unnecessary violence in the streets as a result of this revelation, yes. Especially if it turns out I am wrong and this is not Yama18 but a close mimic,” Dr. Setsuna admitted.

“And how could we tell the difference,” Dr. Fromm asked.

“Through chemical anaylsis, which my lab is doing now and which should be done in, perhaps 2 hours with the equipment we have,” Dr. Canaba put in looking at his chrono.  
“And in the meantime, I would still proceed as if this were Yama18,” Dr. Setsuna stated.

“It is a pity that you have so few women trained to help in chemical clean ups. Considering that women have been shown to heal more quickly and more extensively compared to men. It’s the testosterone that exacerbates the damage done by oxidative stress, not just for chemical weapons but for plasma arc fire, nerve disruptor damage and stunner shots… really I don’t know why men are even allowed to volunteer for military service anymore now that we’ve moved away from weapons like the sword in which height and upper body strength would be an advantage,” Dr. Setsuna mused aloud.

The Major made a strangled choking noise as if he wanted to disagree with this statement but didn’t want to distract the subject too much. That and the subject seemed as if she would be rather stubborn in her views. 

No point in trying to teach a goat how to sing, Miles thought. 

“I see. Thank you Dr. Setsuna. This has been rather enlightening. If there are no further questions I think the antidote can be administered,” Gregor stated.

“Should I mention that I don’t hate men? Because I don’t. I’m just saying men don’t belong in combat,” Dr. Setsuna explained.


	5. Chapter 5

“Well that was awful,” Nakahara said, breaking the silence as they left the little room which contained the emperor and his minions.

“I’m a little surprised they just didn’t take me out and shoot me,” Misaki agreed. 

“It may be best for you to politely leave the planet after this,” Nakahara stated.

“Maybe,” Misaki said.

After the antidote had been administered to her the medical doctors had asked her for the appropriate instructions and handbooks for treating patients. She’d given them that information. Dr. Canaba, who seemed to be their chemist, wanted data on the molecule, yama18 itself. She’d passed off what she had to him though Canaba seemed disappointed. The emperor had then allowed, or requested that she leave depending on how you looked at it. Misaki decided she wouldn’t complain at this point.

They reached her assigned room to find that her roommate’s bed had already been cleared.

“High command has agreed to let the victims return to their families,” a polite ensign explained as he tidied up the room.

“Oh, good,” Misaki stated.

She could go pack now so she wouldn’t have to do it last minute when she was unceremoniously deported.

It was during these troubled thoughts that a familiar face popped into the door.

The figure, a woman in her late twenties with her hair pulled back tightly and dressed smartly in a Ni Hon military uniform entered, offered Ambassador Nakahara a salute.

“Ambassador, as soon as I was informed of Dr. Setsuna’s circumstances I requested that General Zhu allow me to escort her home. He has permitted this. Please inform me when you are ready to leave,” Captain Ayame Miyamoto declared.

Nakahara glanced between Misaki and Ayame. 

“I think captain, if you can get Dr. Setsuna discharged now then you can escort her home. I would then request, and will speak with your commanding officer to make the same request, that you stay with Dr. Setsuna until this… matter has been handled.

“Yes sir,” Captain Miyamoto declared wheeling smartly out of the room. 

Within minutes she’d gotten Misaki’s discharge papers and had politely escorted Nakahara from the room.

“Well don’t you look like a little vagabond in that outfit,” Miskai’s friend Ayame announced in amusement while considering her attire.

Misaki sighed, “I know, it makes me look and feel like a refugee.”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe you could wear it on the fashion catwalks of Hadria, and make it a new craze. Refugee chic. Your tagline could be “I may have lost my family and home, but I never lost my sense of style,” Ayame supplied.

“This is why we can’t have nice things,” Misaki sighed.

The other woman offered Misaki a change of clothes. Pants that were not several sizes too big and a shirt that looked like it belonged to a woman. 

“Better,” Ayame asked.

“Incrementally. It won’t be better until this whole situation has been resolved. It’s horrifying to think some maniacs have their hands on a chemical weapon. I don’t think anyone but these terrorists know if they have more available for a second attack. I can’t help but wonder if this incident in the tunnels was a test run for something bigger. I also can’t imagine how Nakahara feels, having this happen while he’s ambassador. The whole idea of a Ni Hon chemical weapon which was supposed to be secured against the possibility of ever being used again has slipped into the hands of who knows who and then released on a civilian population,” Misaki shook her head as if attempting to dislodge the idea from her brain.

Ayame opened the door to the hospital room which she’d closed to let Misaki change and quickly peered around before leading Misaki out and towards the elevators.

“I don’t know, I hear he sleeps well enough at night,” Ayame muttered.

Misaki raised an eyebrow. They’d arrived on planet together but with Ayame’s work in the embassy itself she was better able to gather information on their Ni Hon compatriates.

“Have you been having trouble with him?”

“No. But there’s some suggestion that he did some nasty things during the war and he’s still being punished for it… of course there is also the persistent rumor that we’re lesbian lovers. So I guess people just love a good story,” Ayame noted.

“What? I thought we were, I mean I followed you to Remiel and you followed me to Barrayar,” Misaki noted.

Ayame snorted, “and you spent the entire time cursing and swearing about how much of an asshole I was.”

“I complained to the emperor that everyone with a Y chromosome has something to prove. I probably should have mentioned that there are plenty without one who are perfectly happy trying to get themselves shot,” Misaki stated hitting the down button on the lift.

“Oh please, Miss ‘I won’t get shot from here, I’d better get closer’. Misa-chan I don’t know what you’re doing half the time. But I swear, there’s a shoujo manga out there missing its hero,” Ayame declared.

“Why shoujo,” Misaki asked.

Ayame didn’t answer but looked up as two men nearly collided with her. Misaki recognized Vorberg as he apologized for nearly bowling Ayame over. Really what was the man doing constantly riding the lifts? They must have him running all over the place. The other fellow was the major from the fast penta interrogation earlier. 

“I see you’ve finally been released from ImpMil, Doctor. But are you now being taken in for questioning by your own people,” the major inquired politely. It was in much the same way one would inquire whether you were getting the filet mignon or the chicken at lunch.

“Negative, Major. I’m merely escorting the doctor back to her abode. As you must know, individuals who have been fast penta’d are unsuitable to drive, operate heavy equipment or make major decisions for up to 24 hours after the antidote has been administered,” Ayame declared.

Ayame always had the good sense to act the part of the serious soldier in front of others, even if she was murmuring jokes under her breath the whole time. 

“I see. Well, Doctor, I understand your work keeps you planted in Vorbarra Sultana. I suppose it is unnecessary to remind you that until this investigation is closed it will be necessary that you not travel too far,” the major stated, firmly albeit politely. 

Ayame did not seem amused.

“And need I remind you major, that as a Ni Hon citizen she is permitted to return to Ni Hon if and when she sees fit,” Ayame stated firmly. 

Ayame did have a tendency of making noise whenever she felt someone was overstepping appropriate boundaries. Unlike Misaki who didn’t have a problem getting into shouting matches, Ayame was much better at keeping her voice calm and level.

The major and the lieutenant exchanged looks. 

“You seem unusually protective of the doctor,” the major noted speaking to Ayame.

“We’ve been friends since high school. Despite the fact that she beat me up, and roundhouse kicked me out of a troop transport carrier,” Misaki stated, hoping the two wouldn’t continue this one upsmanship. She really wanted to go to bed. She couldn’t imagine how Vorberg was still awake. She considered him. He’d probably taken some stimulants.

“Is the fast penta still in effect,” Ayame muttered to her.

Then more loudly Ayame stated, “I mean technically I only hit her the one time.”

“Why,” Vorberg asked looking confused.

“Ideological differences on the role of government mostly, except someone didn’t know how to communicate with her words,” Misaki noted.

Ayame barely managed to keep from sticking her tongue out at Misaki.

“Well what happened?”

“Oh, back in highschool things escalated briefly. We formed factions. Then most of our supplies got destroyed on a camping trip. I guess that’s what brought us together. We ended up eating peanut butter off of rocks. Except Bien Phu who was allergic to peanut butter. He had to eat worms,” Ayame explained.

“He was the bravest boy in Second year class C,” Misaki noted thinking back on it. 

“Charming. The lieutenant and I must be off. We have work to do,” the major stated. Misaki couldn’t tell if the major was disgusted by the story or just antsy to get back to work. It could be both.

“Ah, about that. I know we didn’t discuss this earlier, but a person needs to inhale a fair amount of the drug, in the milligram range and the drug needs time to circulate in the body. It also breaks down in a matter of hours outside as well as inside the body into less dangerous forms. Based on the number of victims and what I’ve gleaned from their locations I would guess the chemical agent was released from more than one area. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier, I just thought of it now,” Misaki said.

“Thank you doctor,” the lieutenant said, he looked surprised. The military men turned to leave.

“Erm, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, Doctor,” Lieutenant Vorberg turned back again.

“You know there’s nothing wrong with you,” she blurted.

Well there was, but there wasn’t she thought. She’d never seen him smile the few times she’d seen him on the metro. Maybe it was family problems, or work problems but she suspected it was really body image problems. She knew from her own patients that those with more obvious physical disabilities were treated as if they were mentally deficient as well even when their intelligence was normal or even above average. 

“I beg your pardon doctor,” Vorberg stated looking confused.

“I – anyway, if there’s anything I can do to help, in general, here’s my commcard,” Misaki stated handing him her card.

“Thank you doctor,” Vorberg stated staring down at the paper as if he were trying to decipher a long dead language.

“Alright Casanova let’s go,” Ayame muttered in her ear.

“But I was just – I feel very responsible for him,” Misaki whispered back as Ayame led her to the elevator.

“Oh god, it’s a good thing I’m getting you out of here now then. Next you’ll be offering to walk him to his car in case of kidnappers,” Ayame stated with a snort.

“Do you think he’d be offended if I did that,” Misaki asked as they headed down.

 

 

“May I ask what that was about,” Major Dzhervsky asked politely.

“I suspect the doctor was worried about any injuries I sustained during our exit of the metro last night,” Lieutenant Vorberg explained.

While his brothers had teased him about his courier duties and their potential to meet exotic and erm, sexually liberated women during his trips the reality was much less interesting. There had been exotic women on the transports he took, but under pain of answering to Simon Illyan, the former head of ImpSec if any screw ups had occurred, Vorberg had kept mostly to himself. He had suspected every female who showed interest in him was a spy, and more than half the time he was right. The rest of the time… well, there was nothing to be said about lost opportunities. 

“Nothing more? She seemed to linger longer than professionally necessary,” Major Dzhervsky noted.

Vorberg shook his head. 

He wanted to switch topics, he didn’t know what to think of the woman nor did he want to draw further attention to his interest in her. Besides, how long would a galactic woman really choose to stay on Barrayar? 

“Sir, as I was saying in the lift it seems that the metro station control comm wasn’t hacked. Which would suggest-“ Vorberg began.

“Quite right, lieutenant, but let’s not broadcast that to anyone whose listening and shouldn’t be, eh,” Dzervsky said in a mildly patronizing tone.

Vorberg did not overtly sigh, but he did feel a growing annoyance with this fellow who seemed less interested in moving the case forward.

“Yes sir, sorry sir,” Vorberg said.

Dzhervsky sighed and studied Vorberg. Semiconsciously Vorberg tried to stand up taller, though he knew he’d lost several centimeters off his legs. The surgeon had said he wouldn’t notice. But he thought about it every time a family member or brother officer looked him over. 

I’m whole damnit. Even as he knew he wasn’t.

Was that what the doctor had been talking about? Damn but it was hard to tell what women meant, whether they were flirting or just trying to be helpful. She’d caught him on the stairs as they’d walked up. Dr. Setsuna hadn’t said anything at the time, but Vorberg wondered now if she had realized there was something wrong with him. 

Was she hoping to fix him in her clinic? As a woman and a doctor he imagined she had an urge to care for people. Did she pity him? 

He wanted, for one long moment to race down after her and clarify what the hell she meant by giving him her card.

Then he put that aside.

He remembered that there had been a terrorist attack on civilians and military alike in the metro of Vorbarra Sultana last night. That he was a witness as well as an officer and he had a job to do.

“Lieutenant, perhaps you should go home and rest. Is your commanding officer Stephenapolous? I’ll talk to him for you,” Dzhervsky stated sympathetically. 

“I’d rather not sir, I already took a stimulant in preparation for the day,” Vorberg stated.

Dzhervsky’s eyebrows went up, “Are you certain you are not too emotionally invested in this?”

Vorberg didn’t know how to answer. He did know the look in Dzhervsky’s eye though, anxiety. Was he worried that Vorberg would somehow harm this case? Perhaps ruin some key evidence as to the identity of the terrorists? 

Well I’m not that disabled.

“Lieutenant Vorberg,” a familiar voice inquired.

They both looked over to see Lord Auditor Vorkosigan.

“Yes, Lord Auditor,” Vorberg inquired.

“I’m given to understand that your metro car was one of the few that saw what happened last night,” Lord Vorkosigan stated.

“Yes, sir,” Vorberg stated.

The Lord Auditor hesitated a moment. Vorberg watched and waited in anticipation. He had heard of Lord Vorkosigan’s penchant for drafting people to his cause, whether solving Captain Illyan’s attempted assassination or his more recent cases. Vorberg would be willing to work with the man if it meant continuing on this case now. But why the hesitation? Did even this man, who was himself crippled honestly doubt Vorberg’s abilities? 

The hesitation passed, “I imagine that you can help me. I’m headed to the command station for the metro lines and I would like any insight an ImpSec analyst who was present during the attack could provide me,” Lord Auditore Vorkosigan stated. 

“Should I inform-“Lieutenant Vorberg began.

“I’ll request that Major Dzhervsky mention this to your commanding officer. I’d like to leave now,” Lord Vorkosigan stated.

Vorberg nodded.

Dzhervsky merely looked flabbergasted but managed an, “as you wish, my lord auditor.”


	6. Chapter 6

Miles and Vorberg rode together in the back of the vorkosigan groundcar.

“So you think this was an inside job,” Miles asked.

“Comm techs who are on site now have relayed the fact that the comms in charge of metro operations were not hacked into. Vid surveillance shows the station master Santo Guillame entering the control room roughly an hour before the attack and that both his passcode and keycard were used to induce the emergency metro shut down which trapped those people in the metro when the gas was released,” Vorberg relayed.

Miles frowned, “so the man stepped in, activated emergency shut down protocols and then… what? Is he in custody?”

“No sir, Santos Guillame, the station master is nowhere to be found,” Lieutenant Vorberg stated.

Miles considered this, “I’ve never seen the inside of the metro control center. But I’d imagine that there’s more than one exit. Surely he must have escaped somewhere. Excuse me a moment Lieutenant. Pym? Contact ImpSec, tell them to place an arrest warrant for Santos Guillame if they haven’t already.”

“Yes milord,” came the reply from the front. 

A few minutes later Pym’s voice came over the inner commspeakers, “Milord, ImpSec has had an arrest warrant out for Santo Guillame since last night. His body was found an hour ago lying face down in one of the metro tunnels. However he was wearing a chemical suit to protect himself from the gas, preliminary reports from ImpSec suggest he took cyanide.”

Vorberg watched the little auditor process this.

“Are they certain it wasn’t a decoy? No, of course ImpSec would make doubly certain. But why would a man do such a thing? Did he realize his face would be on the vids? Why would he have run into the tunnels? Was he being pursued by anyone at the time,” Lord Vorkosigan wondered aloud.

Brief silence.

“His body was found several hours after he died, milord,” Pym stated, seemingly reporting from some other source.

“So he wasn’t being followed by our men, perhaps he was being chased by some of his own? Maybe his employers sought to save money by cutting him loose… maybe with threats to his family if he didn’t kill himself. Does he have family,” Miles inquired.

Another brief silence.

“A wife and two children here in Vorbarra Sultana as well as parents on south continent. ImpSec has already questioned the wife about what she knew and found nothing of interest,” Pym reported.

Vorberg sat back and listened to the little man talk through several scenarios.

 

When they arrived at the metro comm central several men in the semi-militant uniforms of VSMTA, Vorbarra Sultana Metro Transit Authority were present and waiting for them.  
The former vice officer, now head officer of VSMTA was a thin nervous looking man with the air of a competent engineer but not the self esteem of one. His hand shake reminded Lieutenant Vorberg of holding a dead fish. 

“Good morning, well… not good morning, I mean after last night’s attacks and Santo being found dead and – and – well it’s not a very good morning. Did I mention I am Fyodor Helmut, the new head officer? Well, I mean the promotion hasn’t been verified, but- and I don’t mean to capitalize on my dead predecessor’s um demise. I don’t want you to think I’m happy about his death. Santo Guillame was a model worker and the best boss a man could have,” Fyodor declared.

As Fyodor babbled Vorberg began to suspect that the new head officer was the sort of man who’d never had so much as a parking ticket in his life and now – well now the metro had been attacked and his boss was dead. Not to mention from the man’s stubble, he’d likely been woken up after the attacks and had been here since then. 

Vorberg judged him to be a very conscientious man, just one who didn’t handle stress well. He suspected that despite whatever skills the man possessed his promotion to head officer would be brief. VSMTA would have to find someone who was more of a people person.

One of the two other men with Fyodor spoke up.

“My lord auditor, I am the new head engineer, Johann Schmitt and our head comm programmer Jasper Brezhnev. We are here to help in any way we can. Though we would also seek to agree with Fyodor’s point, we think our former boss is being maligned,” Schmitt declared.

He seemed a man who was sure of himself. Vorberg had no idea if the man was actually competent, but he did a more effective job of conveying ability than Fyodor. His handshake was firm and dry.

“Santo would not have aided and abetted Komarran terrorists,” Brezhnev agreed firmly.

Lord Vorkosigan’s eyebrows shot up, “who said anything about the Komarrans?”

The three VSMTA men glanced at each other.

“We heard it might be Komarrans from one of the ImpSec officers,” Schmitt stated.

“Gentleman, ignore whoever said that, do not spread that rumor. My God do not spread that rumor. If anyone tells you it was Komarrans tell them they are wrong. At the moment we have no idea who orchestrated the attack on the tunnels. I plan to get to the bottom of this,” Lord Vorkosigan declared.

Vorberg was himself surprised by the fervent plea from the auditor. Though he supposed that if his father had been known for the Solstice Massacre… Lord Vorkosigan obviously wanted his family’s legacy to be something beyond murdered Komarrans. 

“I see,” Brezhnev said looking disappointed.

“Gentlemen, please. What I want from you is first a tour of your central control room and an explanation of how Santo Guillame or whoever shut down the system long enough to release the toxic gas.”

Fyodor led the way upstairs and into the control room.

“As you can see, entry to this room is through retinal scan only, people must be in the system to get inside. During the day shift, due to the heavy traffic we have six traffic control officers in charge of sending metros down the correct lines and keeping traffic moving. The trains are programmed with anti-crash technology to avoid any horrible incidents. The trains simply stop when they sense they’re about to run into another metro car… this does not work with people though and we do have to manually remove – well that isn’t relevant,” Fyodor explained nervously.

“For the overnight shift we typically only have one traffic controller here to shut everything down. Someone then comes in to open everything else up in the morning. In total we have four shifts, some of them overlapping to allow people to come in and go at different times. It’s only the first and last hour of the metro when only one traffic controller is present. Otherwise there’s at least one other person. It wasn’t common for Santo to take the evening shift, but with Stickowitz out because of her new baby, it wasn’t too surprising,” Schmitt explained. 

“And only one key is needed to shut down the system,” Lord Vorkosigan asked incredulously.

“If it’s the master key then only one key is needed, for the rest of us it’s our key plus a partner’s key,” Brezhnev put in.

“So Guillame waited until the last hour when he was alone to hit the emergency shut down. Are there any outgoing calls around that point, did he warn anyone,” Lord Vorkosigan asked.

“There is no indication that he called anyone on our lines,” Fyodor declared.

“And his wristcomm, did he carry one,” Lord Vorkosigan asked.

“Yes, he had one in the vidpix we saw earlier,” Lord Vorberg noted. He remembered one.

“Perhaps but when the Imperial Security officers came and found his body on the tracks earlier there was no evidence that he had one,” Fyodor reported.

“Except he always had one on, it wasn’t a standard issue one, something his father in law had put together. The old man was a comm-maker,” Schmitt stated.

“It had the most interesting pattern on it, tessellations of horses on the strap. He was fond of horseback riding,” Brezhnev seemed to remember.

“An unusual hobby for a man in the city,” the auditor noted.

“Horseback riding was something he did in his youth. His parents owned a farm on south continent,” Schmitt explained.

“He would talk about it for hours if you let him,” Brezhnev agreed.

“You think his killer stripped it off of him,” Vorberg asked Lord Vorkosigan.

“Perhaps,” Lord Vorkosigan mused, “I’d like to go down into the tunnels to see how the cleanup is going, and to search the area where Guillame died for clues. Perhaps he meant to leave us clues as to the identity of his killers.”

They were about to troop down.

“I did wonder, Officer Helmut, it was suggested to me that the chemicals released into the metro last night did not come from one source, but in fact came from several sources. Have you or your team noticed anything unusual in your tunnels recently or have you found anything new since the attack,” Vorberg asked, remembering Dr. Setsuna’s comment from earlier.

Even if the terrorists had set things up quickly they surely would not have bothered to clean up. Perhaps what they had left behind would be the clue they needed.

“I – there is something I have to show you,” Fyodor stated almost choking on his words, he seemed close to tears.

Fyodor Helmut, Schmitt, Vorberg and Pym suited up in standard issue chemsuits. Lord Vorkosigan apparently had a custom made one which Pym offered to him. 

They traveled down into the tunnels. The tunnels were brighter than they’d been last night, Vorberg noted such that he could see all of the tubes and wires which hung overheard. Something one never noticed under normal lighting, much less under the emergency lighting they’d had to make do with last night. 

Even before Fyodor pointed it out Vorberg noticed an odd boxlike structure which was hooked to an overhead pipe that also connected to the sprinkler system. It was not the shape or color which gave it away as the newness of the structure which stood out against the older pipes overhead. 

“Is this something you found this morning,” Lord Vorkosigan inquired as he craned his neck to look up at the structure. 

There was no ladder nearby, but a grav lift was present and had likely been used to place the box. 

“No, it’s something we put up a week ago,” Fyodor admitted, the way a man under extreme stress admitted to murder.

Vorberg felt his stunner weigh heavily in its holster and he wondered if he should be prepared to shoot the man.

“Explain please,” Lord Vorkosigan stated.

“An Imperial Security officer arrived a week ago and explained that he was on a mission to capture a suspected hit man on Barrayaran soil. He said he needed to set up cameras in the metro to do so,” Fyodor explained.

“I see. Double check that story with ImpSec please Pym. Officer Helmut, if these black boxes in fact cameras then? Do you think they’ll lead us to the ones who killed Guillame,” Lord Vorkosigan asked. 

“I didn’t know anything about this,” Schmitt declared looking like a man who’d shown up for a jumpship that had already left  
.  
“But that’s just the thing, we thought they were cameras but- well I’ll show you,” Fyodor shook his head. He climbed up on the grav lift and rose up to the box. It actually took him some time to get the contraption detached and Vorberg was beginning to wonder why the man hadn’t taken a box down earlier to show them rather than having them wait.  
But the man dropped down again, with a vibro knife he opened the container. As he did so out puffed gray smoke that swirled in the air.

Despite this there was little powder present inside the container once he opened it. It must have been released already.

“So the chemical weapons been here this whole time, and controlled by remote it seems,” Lord Vorkosgan mused as he took the pieces from the flustered head of VSMTA.

“What was the name of the officer who requested this,” Vorberg asked.

Fyodor shrugged helplessly, “he never spoke to me. He didn’t even come into our offices the front way. He apparently accosted Guillame one night about the supposed cameras and told Guillame that this was top secret,” Fyodor declared. 

“So that’s why Santo had been recorded working late the past week,” Schmitt inquired. 

Fyodor nodded, “Guillame was told this was a special project. I only heard because I forgot my gloves one night, my niece made them for me and my hands get terribly cold without them so I went back into the main office and – well I overheard some of it. But I don’t know much.”

“This… is a fascinating story, do you have evidence to corroborate it,” Lord Vorkosigan inquired.

Indeed, was this just an attempt to cover up?

“I – well from what I understand Guillame brought the fellow down here once to survey the work,” Fyodor said fumbling in the pocket of his suit. He pulled out a vid-monitor and managed through shaking fingers to pull up a short vid sequence.

The small silent vid showed Guillame undergoing a retinal scan with a man in ImpSec greens behind him. The two men were clearly in an elevator, likely the very same one that they’d just descended into the tunnels in. Unfortunately the man’s back was to the vidcam and he kept his standard issue cap low over his face. 

Vorberg noted the black hair turning gray which was clipped short on the back of the head and the strong jawline on pale skin but nothing more could be gleaned. The man had taken off, his name badge and rank marks. Still, the cut and design screamed Imperial Securtiy and even in costume shops it was illegal, punishable by death to copy an ImpSec uniform. 

“Did you notice that,” Lord Vorkosigan asked giddily.

Vorberg blinked and watched the vid playback.

“When the fellow touched the wall,” Vorberg asked.

Was Vorkosigan really implying that they’d do a finger scan to catch this fellow? Vorberg considered their options. He supposed they had few.

Fingerprinting with the digital scanners took little time, it was sorting through the various profiles of ImpSec officers who had used that tunnel today which was hardest. Facial recognition and software which could date the time at which fingerprints had been left basedon on the break down of oil residue gave them a window and a set of officers to consider. 

Information on where each man had been last evening helped narrow the list slightly further.

The problem of course would be in gaining a confession from anyone considering that most of Imperial Security was fast penta proof.

 

After casually talking to several of the suspected officers Vorkosigan decided they’d head to cockroach central to interview a few more individuals.

Lord Vorkosigan abducted the late Colonel Ander’s secretary and had the man open the Colonel’s office. Time was spent routing through the office. Miles briefly tried opening the man’s commconsole but found the usual ImpSec tricks didn’t work. 

“Other officers were already in today to check the Colonel’s computer, they didn’t find anything interesting. At least nothing worth killing an ImpSec Colonel over, if that was the case sir,” the secretary politely explained. 

Vorkosigan frowned, “I see, whose on our list to visit next?”

Vorberg read off the list of ImpSec men whom Vorkosigan had wanted to interview based on their fingerprints. Two were in Colonel Anders department.

Vorberg imagined that if anyone would want to murder a man it was likely the people who routinely took abuse from him.

Not that Anders was physically or verbally abusive per se. Though the few times Vorberg had bumped into him, the man had proved quietly, intensely, unnerving. 

The secretary smiled at one name in particular, “with all due respect, my lord auditor, I don’t know that there’s much reason to accuse Major Illyich Olgav of committing terrorist attacks. He has been one of our most successful analysts these past three years. In fact he’s due for another promotion next month.”

“Is he a recent graduate from the academy,” Vorkosigan asked in confusion, rechecking his file.

“No, actually he was transferred to us from Internal Investigations and before that he was in the anti-counterfeiting department. Truth was Colonel Anders was initially concerned because Major Olgav was said to be particularly abrasive. But I’ve never heard him raise his voice,” the secretary confided.

Their first interview was with an exhausted looking Captain Patel yielded no clues. But Vorberg nearly jumped when he saw Vorkosigan take out a wristcomm with tessellated horses along the strap.

“When did you find Guillame’s wristcomm,” Vorberg asked quietly when Patel left.

Vorkosigan’s eye brows went up, “it’s not his, I asked Pym to stop off at a commstore and had one made up earlier. It didn’t take long. I had thought to wake you but Pym suggested I let you sleep in the car.”

Vorberg blinked, unnerved that he hadn’t remembered slipping into sleep. Surely he’d only briefly rested his eyes.

It was then that their next interviewee, Major Olgav entered. He was a bull of a man who physically and metaphorically looked down on Miles and Vorberg as he shook hands. He offered Pym a more wary nod.

“How may I be of assistance my Lord Auditor,” Olgav inquired seating himself after Vorkosigan sat.

“As you already know Colonel Anders was killed last night during a terrorist attack on the Vorbarra Sultana metro. Our current theory is that the attack was created specifically as an attempt to murder him. We know the terrorists were able to release the chemical agent into the metro system via remote control. We’d like to ask you a few questions about where you were and what you were doing yesterday evening,” Vorberg explained.

Olgav bristled, “all of my hard work these past years and you’re accusing me of murdering Barrayaran citizens?”

“We are merely curious as to whether you saw anything of interest. Reports show that you were at headquarters late into the evening, until about two hours before the attacks. We were wondering, since you are an analyst and therefore a trained observer, if you’d seen anything,” Vorkosigan explained more diplomatically.

Olgav nodded slightly, seemingly mollified by this explanation spoke, “I was here finishing up a report for Colonel Anders on an incident on Eta Rho which I think we could use to our advantage. I don’t know who will read it now, or if it will be looked at in time for anything to be done about it. If I were you on this case my suggestion would be to identify the chemical agent and work from there, who produced it?”

Vorberg glanced at Vorkosigan.

“The current theory is that it’s of Ni Hon origin, though of course the ambassador denies any knowledge of the incident. It has been explained to us that the Ni Hon wouldn’t use such a weapon due to ah, cultural issues on their own planet which would occur as a result of it,” Vorkosigan explained as diplomatically as possible. 

“That doesn’t mean some terrorist group from them wouldn’t have done anything, just like the Buddha’s hand,” Olgav noted.

“You’re familiar with them,” Vorkosigan asked curiously.

Olgav shrugged, “My work is in the planets near Eta Rho, that includes Ni Hon. I have a passing recollection of that group.”

“I see,” Vorkosigan said.

Vorkosigan removed the tessellated wristcomm from his pocket, “we pulled this off one of the head engineer for VSMTA, does it look familiar?”

If Vorkosigan had expected his guilty party to leap across the table and attack him. He was disappointed. If Vorkosigan had expected a widening of the eyes and gibbering, he was disappointed.

Major Olgav looked it over with disinterest, “With all due respect My lord auditor if there is supposed to be some forensic evidence present on that item I would suggest you not carry it around in your pocket, nor should you handle it ungloved.”

Vorkosigan deflated slightly, “I see. Well it was already sent down to sample analysis, the fibers they pulled are being looked at even now.”

“Then hopefully you’ll get some good information. I dislike my job when I’m forced to work and yet I’m not on the need to know list,” Olgav stated.

Vorkosigan smiled sympathetically, “I understand that feeling.”

“My suggestion, if you choose to take it. Focus on any foreigners, especially those of Ni Hon origin. I understand it’s not politically correct to state this. But they have an exceptional gift of planting sleeper agents in the most unlikely of places. They’re language partners with the Cetagandans and relations have always been somewhere between neutral and friendly between the two governments,” Olgav suggested.

“Thank you Major,” Vorkosigan said.

Vorberg could tell that Vorkosigan was thinking madly. He still thought something was off about Olgav, but wasn’t sure what to say.

“We’d also like to perform a cheek swab,” Vorberg blurted.

Vorkosigan managed to keep his face neutral at this outburst.

Olgav looked surprised, “whatever for.”

“And hair samples,” Vorberg added gaining conviction, “it’s because the chemical agent after being inhaled is incorporated into the body. It occurs in even trace amounts such as when taking on or off a chem suit.”

“But I was never exposed to Yama18,” Olgav declared.

“I never named the chemical Major,” Vorkosigan declared, a triumphant look on his face.

It lasted only briefly as Olgav whipped around to catch Pym in the chest with a taser he’d concealed in a side pocket. Stunners and plasma arcs were not allowed in the building. Nor were tasers for that matter, but damn how had he snuck that in?

Pym dropped and Olgav held out a metal knife.

Help was through the closed door which was beyond Olgav.

“Major, you do not think that killing us will save you, do you,” Vorkosigan asked cautiously.

Olgav glanced between Miles and Vorberg.

“If you surrender now and cooperate fully I can speak with Gregor on your behalf. Your honor is not yet fully compromised,” Vorkosigan declared.

“Honor? What do you know of honor, mutie,” Olgav spat.

“I must request that you place the weapon on the floor and back away,” Vorberg ordered.

Olgav glanced at Vorberg, “look at you, taking orders from this little troll. Do you know who he is?”

“An imperial auditor and the voice of the emperor,” Vorberg responded automatically.

“Really? Because I heard from some fellows here in Galactic Affairs that he used to go by the name Admiral Naismith of the Dendari mercenaries. Does that name mean anything to you,” Olgav asked.

Vorberg drew back from his crouched position.

Vorkosigan turned an unusual shade of gray at this remark. 

Vorberg did nothing so obvious as launch himself at the little auditor. 

But there was nothing friendly in the way he looked down at the Miles. They were close enough that Vorberg could deliver a violent blow with a modicum of effort.

“I bet there are no recorders in this room,” Vorberg said calmly, looking around the room for the first time.

“Lieutenant, I think this discussion needs to occur after we get our suspect into custody,” Vorkosigan said.

“You mean after you get a wall of men to hide behind,” Vorberg demanded. He flexed his fingers as if itching to choke someone.

“For God’s sake Vorberg don’t piss your career away at the insistence of this maniac,” Vorkosigan insisted.

Too late.

Olgav had lowered his knife, apparently expecting to watch murder unfold. Vorberg tackled him. They rolled around with the stronger Olgav taking the advantage. At least until Vorberg performed the unauthorized sparring move of clapping his hands on each side of the other man’s carotid. Blood circulation was stopped long enough to stun Olgav.  
Vorkosigan had already opened the interview room door and called out to ImpSec agents who rushed in. Vorkosigan then moved to tend to Pym.

Vorkosigan glanced up at Vorberg, “I didn’t think you’d do that.”

“What, realize that the man was trying to manipulate me into killing you? Or you meant winning the fight with him,” Vorberg asked tensely.

“Actually I meant I didn’t think you could tell a believable lie, what made you think of the cheek swab,” Vorkosigan asked.

Vorberg shrugged and offered no explanation. He was bone tired.

The little auditor turned away to give instructions to the ImpSec agents now in the room.

Olgav was taken to a prison cell downstairs. Pym was taken to a medical exam room on a different level.

Despite the other people present Vorkosigan still looked uncomfortable, “I’m um, sorry about shooting your legs off.”

Vorkosigan winced at his own apology and tried again.

“I was trying to save my military career, I didn’t mean to ruin yours. I’m glad you didn’t let emotion cloud your judgment like it did mine,” Vorkosigan said.

Vorberg shook his head, “I’ve had time to think it over. This was not the first time I’ve heard this.”

Vorkosigan’s eyebrows shot up, “who – did Illyan tell you?”

“In a way, it was while he was having those flashbacks or whatever they were and they were keeping him tied down belowground. I – he made a comment once about getting you so you could rescue that hapless courier in Twilight Zoa. He also let slip your other identity,” Vorberg admitted.

“Yet even when you were in my home with just Martin… what stopped you from,” at this Vorkosgan made a gesture at his neck.

“My first duty was to captain Illyan who needed to see you then. I still thought of him as my superior, even if, well despite his injuries at the time. In retrospect I’m reminded that Haroche must have known about my injuries and how I’d gotten them. He was also the one who assigned me to watch Illyan. Once you uncovered his plot I began to think it wasn’t a mistake he’d put me down there. Perhaps he’d meant for me to get revenge,” Vorberg explained.

The little auditor shivered, “damned if you aren’t the most principled man in the service.”

Vorberg shrugged, he thinking about what needed to be done before he could finally go to bed. The stimulants were wearing off.


	7. Chapter 7

Ayame sat on the couch of Misaki’s apartment and watched the other woman baking.

“Are you planning on hosting a party I wasn’t invited to,” Ayame asked.

Misaki sighed, after a long nap she’d felt too wired to go back to bed. She’d gotten up, showered and started cooking. She had a habit of stress baking. Not that people tended to complain.

“Maybe. I suppose I can always pawn it off on your comrades at the embassy. I don’t think I can finish all this before it goes bad,” Misaki mused as she finished sealing the anko inside the dorayaki pancakes.

She supposed she could always bring it in to work too. She was always in the middle of something when the hospital cafeteria was open and finishing it up just as it was closing. Damn but she’d already lost ten pounds on the ‘Barrayaran diet’. 

“Is this about the pretty lieutenant,” Ayame asked with an amused grin.

“Mm no. He is attractive, and intelligent and - wait we’re getting side tracked... I was actually thinking about whether I did the right thing is all. I didn’t have to try to lie to the Barrayarans about what the chemical agent was. But I- I feel that if I hadn’t been fast penta’d I wouldn’t have told them. I worry that I was putting blind patriotism before my moral obligations to others,” Misaki admitted.

Ayame snorted, “do you want to know what would have happened if you’d boldly told the Barrayarans what chemical was used in the metro? Nakahara would have panicked and likely painted you as an enemy of the state for handing out such potentially damaging secrets. Plus if you were wrong you’d have been labelled a liar and a troublemaker at best. Better that the Barrayarans had to drag it out of you with fast penta. What’s even better is even if you’re wrong this time it’s not your fault because you were being as cooperative as possible.”

“Perhaps,” Misaki conceded, “still, my first goal as a physician should be to provide the highest standard of care regardless of my patient.”

“Which you’ve done! The only treatment for Yama18 is palliative. Stop beating yourself up already,” Ayame said flopping back on the couch. 

Misaki sighed, “I suppose.”

Ayame stayed a while longer, they ate dinner together and then Ayame was called away to the embassy to file a report.

It was a short while after that when Misaki received a call on her wristcomm.

She tapped the key to accept the call.

“Misaki,” a male inquired. It sounded like Lieutenant Vorberg.

“Speaking,” she said.

“It’s Vorberg, Lieutenant Maximilian Vorberg. I hope I’m not being too forward, but I’ve recently finished for the day. I’d like to see you tonight,” Lieutenant Vorberg said.

Misaki blinked, “I- are you sure Lieutenant, I know you’ve taken stimulants but I imagine they’ve worn off at this point.”

A soft chuckle, “Observant woman. So you’ve been watching me just as I’ve been watching you. In truth I had several questions for you about this Yama18, I know you’re the only one who knows anything about it. Perhaps we could discuss it over dinner?”

Misaki was silent a moment, “Of course Lieutenant, where should I meet you?”

“I think we’d both prefer to stay away from the metro system just now, but my car broke down recently and has only been fixed today. Would it be traumatizing to meet at the entrance to South Station say, in an hour? I could bring you home in my car later,” Vorberg said.

Misaki glanced at her wall chrono and considered the outfits in her closet and the things she ought to be doing.

“That will work just fine Lieutenant,” she said licking her lips subconsciously.

“See you soon,” Vorberg said, ending the call.

 

Vorberg and Vorkosigan watched the vidcam linkup of Major Olgav. The recently detained major sat in a small interrogation room, a look of disgust apparent on his face.  
Vorkosigan was talking to Colonel Shiltz, one of the chief interrogators of ImpSec.

“Has he confessed to anything yet,” Lord Vorkosigan asked.

The colonel raised an eyebrow at this but spoke deferentially, “he has only been in this detention facility for half an hour, my lord auditor. I’m afraid he is allergic to fast penta, medically induced of course. He refuses to cooperate. He has not claimed that he was tricked into confessing though. This is good. Getting suspects to admit guilt is the hardest portion of my job.”

“He couldn’t exactly claim innocence after pulling a weapon on me,” Lord Vorkosigan noted acerbically.

They did not discuss Major Olgav’s attempt to convince Vorberg to do his dirty work. That aspect would not be brought up it seemed, much to Vorberg’s relief.

“True enough, My lord,” Schiltz agreed.

“So how long to figure out to what extent he helped with the metro attack and why he did it,” Lord Vorkosigan asked impatiently.

Schiltz studied the vidcam pickup with the scowling Olgav for a minute before replying.

“A few days I think, he seems like he will be a hard case... it’s a pity that we’re no longer permitted to use hard interrogation techniques,” Schiltz lamented.

Hard interrogation involved the use of physical violence .

Vorberg considered Schiltz, an older man perhaps in his mid-fifties who was coming up on his twice twenty year mark. He’d likely been around for how things were done in the Old Days.

“That might not help if his accomplices manage to flee before we know to stop them,” Vorkosigan complained.

It was true, Vorberg had checked the registry of items placed in the ImpSec basements, nothing to suggest that Yama18 had ever been confiscated and stored here. No simple explanation was available.

A knock came on the door and a young captain entered, “my lord auditor, there’s a call from the Ni Hon embassy for you. They say it’s urgent.”

Lord Vorkosigan’s eyebrows rose and he followed the young captain out.

Vorberg, after a moment struggling with his role in this case followed after Lord Vorkosigan.

He wondered uneasily if this call had anything to do with Dr. Setsuna. 

But by the time he arrived Lord Vorkosigan was already galloping out of the room, an alarming sight to say the least.

“We have to go Lieutenant,” was all Lord Vorkosigan said.


	8. Chapter 8

Misaki walked along the platform at South Station and marveled at how quickly everything had been cleared up since last night. At least no one had stopped her from entering the station and heading down so she thought it must be cleaned up.

She hadn’t broken into hives yet at least.

An electronic billboard did not note a time when the next metro shuttle would be arriving though. So services were still not running.

She wondered if she ought to have worn more clothing beyond the red dress.

She turned as she heard a lone set of footsteps coming down the steps behind her.

She turned to see Nakahara, put together perfectly as usual, standing at the bottom of the steps.

“What are you doing here ambassador,” she asked, her eyebrows going up. 

Nakahara sighed as he strode towards her, from his waistband he pulled out a plasma arc.

“I’m going home one way or another my dear,” he said softly as he brought it up and took aim at her, his hand did not shake.

“Put the weapon down ambassador,” General ZHuordered.

The order caught Nakahara by surprise. The Ni Hon soldiers who jumped out of the shadows to tackle him surprised him even further.

This did not surprise Misaki. What did surprise Misaki was when someone tackled her to the ground. 

Red flashed in her periphery and she noticed the plasma beam shoot up from Nakahara’s weapon into the tunnel, causing debris to fall down.

“Lieutenant,” she managed in surprise.

“I’m sorry to have surprised you doctor… but I’ve seen what can happen with a man who isn’t in control of his weapon,” Lieutenant said rising up, off of her.

She and Vorberg watched as the Ni Hon soldiers subdued Nakahara, ripping the plasma arc from his hands and removing the possibility of the ambassador accidentally or purposely shooting anyone.

 

 

General Zhu bowed again, his head hung low, “I cannot emphasize enough, I have had no idea that ambassador Nakahara had anything to do with the chemical attacks within the Vorbarra Sultana metro systems. He does not represent Ni Hon and has assuredly failed in his duties as ambassador.”

Misaki Setsuna bowed as well and looked just as contrite.

She was also wearing Lieutenant Vorberg’s coat, Miles noted.

Vorberg for his part attempted to look as professional as possible and almost succeeded except for the way his eyes danced. 

“I understand that individuals in trusted positions can turn out to be interested only in their own personal gain,” Miles stated thinking of General Haroche.

“I am still curious, did Nakahara retrieve the Yama18 himself, how did it get shipped and why,” Miles asked.

General Zhu, the head security officer of the Ni Hon embassy hesitated a moment, “it will be simple enough to ask him, he has no fast penta allergy.”

Miles smiled, finally something simple.


	9. Chapter 9

Lieutenant Vorberg jerked awake suddenly as someone gently shook his shoulder. 

“Dr. Setsuna,” he blurted, unable to think of anything else to say as he looked up into the face of the woman.

He noticed with some disappointment that she’d removed his military jacket and wore her own now. The dress was gone as well, replaced by pants and a white, buttoned down shirt.

He hadn’t remembered dozing off, he’d just taken a minute to rest his legs and well, he knew the stimulants had worn off and he was running on adrenaline for several hours.

She smiled at him despite his inability to say anything intelligent.

“Lieutenant Vorberg do they not have cots or beds here for ImpSec officers forced to spend their days and nights in here? I worry you’ll get a cramp sitting the way you are.

Anyway, Ayame was nice enough to bring some food for me and I was wondering if you were hungry,” Dr. Setsuna stated.

“You’re welcome by the way,” the captain who had been escorting Dr Setsuna earlier, Ayame, stated cheerfully from her position by the door.

“I – yes, thank you,” Lieutenant Vorberg said, embarrassed at his own befuddlement.

He remembered they were waiting for someone in order to begin the interrogation of Nakamura, the soon to be former ambassador for Ni Hon. 

“Dr. Setsuna, did the interrogation already take place,” he asked as Dr. Setsuna separated out the food for them.

She smiled, “you can call me Misaki, I think after our near death experience in the metro tunnel we can be familiar enough. My understanding is that the interrogation is still ongoing, but I stepped out after the first half hour.”

Vorberg glanced at this chrono at that remark and almost fell out of his chair. He’d been sleeping for nearly two hours, why hadn’t anyone awakened him? 

“I- this must be difficult for you, this ambassador was a man you thought you could trust,” Vorberg said.

Misaki’s associate Ayame murmured something under her breath, but it was in Japanese and Vorberg wasn’t wearing his translator earpiece.

Misaki sighed, “yes, there were apparently hints and signs that something was wrong. What I didn’t know and what General Zhu felt he had to keep quiet to save face was that Nakahara was… I won’t go into it but he did some terrible things during our civil war. Enough that, “as this Misaki paused and made a pained face before continuing, “enough that he should have been tried for war crimes. As is… well he couldn’t be punished for doing his job. So he was sent to this outpost. Initially he’d hoped it would only be for a few years. But time dragged on.”

“We have a man we think was collaborating with ambassador Nakahara,” Vorberg noted, careful not to reveal too much information. He thought the doctor was trustworthy, but he still had to follow protocol and keep certain information secret form civilians.

“Do you think Nakahara was attempting to gain secrets from our man in order to convince your government that he was valuable enough to return home,” Vorberg inquired.

Perhaps Olgav had been selling state secrets and Nakahara had thought this ability to get insider information would boost his battered worth with his superiors.

But no, Ander’s secretary had stated that Olgav had been a rising star in his department these past few years. Had Olgav been accepting information from Nakahara then? TO what end? Vorberg was insanely curious to know what Olgav had been offering the Ni Hon ambassador in return. Something that was worth breaching protocol and failing to report outside contacts to one’s superiors. Worse, something worth killing over to hide this breach of protocol. 

Misaki shook her head, “Nakahara did apparently have a man inside Imperial Security, but it seems his actual goal was to cause an incident so enormous that Ni Hon would have to remove its embassy from Barrayar and call for an evacuation of its citizens.”

“Hence the metro attacks… but then why did our man go along with it,” Vorberg wondered.

“My understanding was that Colonel Anders, the man who died the night I was in the hospital, and his aide Captain Vorpatril, were investigating the Imperial Security man in question. The man panicked, thinking he was to be uncovered and induced the release of Yama18 early,” Misaki explained.

“Early,” Vorberg asked.

“Yes, my understanding was that Nakahara had actually intended to release the gases during rush hour to create mass casualties,” Misaki confirmed looking upset.

Vorberg could only feel horror. He had wondered why the chemical agent had been released at such an inopportune time, but to think that someone had nearly succeeded in causing thousands of deaths and mass panic.

Another thought crossed his mind, “but why did Nakahara set that trap for you? How did you realize it was a trap?”

Was it simply revenge? Had the ambassador decided to try to kill the young woman because she’d decreased the death count and warned ImpSec of the origin of the chemical?  
Misaki looked embarrassed, “Well he called me using a voice changer and pretended to be you. Why he tried to murder me was less clear. He offered a few reasons, trying to distract by using my death as a cover, trying to blame me for the Yama18 by making it look like I’d killed myself out of guilt, in truth I think he panicked after hearing his confederate in Imperial Security had been caught.”

“He called pretending to be me? How did you know- did you think to report me to your embassy as a safeguard?”

Misaki’s eyebrows shot up.

“I wouldn’t blame you of course,” Vorberg put in immediately, attempting to assuage any anxiety or guilt she might have, “I know we Barrayarans have a very poor reputation across the galaxy.”

Misaki only looked more embarrassed, “No. It was more that when he pretended to be you he didn’t sound like you do when you talk to me.”

At Vorberg’s confused face she attempted to clarify.

“There’s a certain warmth in your voice when you talk to me and a strong sense of propriety that he lacked,” she admitted.

Her friend muttered something else in Japanese. Vorberg didn’t understand but Misaki turned to glare at the woman who only smiled in amusement.

“Anyway,” Misaki said pulling out another bag “I wanted to return your coat to you. Thank you for letting me borrow it.”

Vorberg accepted the bag with his coat in it, it had obviously been dry cleaned and carefully folded for him.

Misaki stood, “I apologize for leaving so soon, I have clinic hours tomorrow and have to check in with my patients. No surgery so I can afford to be a little tired, but I can’t be too distracted. General Zhu and his aides promised to call me if there was anything else I could do to help, and please feel free to use my number if you have further questions.”  
But we only just got unto a first name basis, Vorberg thought in a panic. Do you know how difficult it is to find a woman like you? Someone who doesn’t look down on me, whose calm in dangerous situations and has a strong sense of responsibility.

He leapt up and caught her arm as she turned away from him.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Vorberg immediately let her go, it wasn’t proper to touch a lady like that, even if he desperately wanted to.

“I’m sorry, I – will you marry me?”

The question was blurted out before he could stop himself. Damn his sleep fogged brain, he thought as she only looked more startled by the question.

“I’m sorry, I don’t even have a ring,” Vorberg admitted. He didn’t know what else to say.

He wished he could say something, anything that would wipe that look of shock off her face. Perhaps she already had a lover, or – was it possible the other woman was her lover? 

Ayame nudged Misaki and said, “tell him he doesn’t need a ring, because he already has your heart.”

“Lieutenant I- well I’ll be here for another year at least. There’s no need to rush into marriage,” Misaki stated with a smile.

The vise in his chest suddenly released. So he hadn’t committed some unpardonable gaffe. Better still, now he knew she was interested.

“You can call me Maximilian,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips.

Ayame smiled in amusement, “as chief friend I have to advise you on what a proper girl our Misa-chan is, she demonstrates filial piety, strong cooking skills and is proficient with the naginata, allowing her to defend the home against rival samurai clans.”

“She’s just kidding,” Misaki assured Vorberg, noting his alarmed look.

“I should hope so. I would shoot anyone who tried to attack you,” Lieutenant Vorberg promised vehemently.

Misaki only smiled and surprised him with a kiss.

“Remember to call me, but not before you go to bed and get some real sleep. No more stimulants, your body needs natural rest,” Misaki ordered him even as her friend led her out.

“Thank you doctor, I will,” he promised with a smile.


	10. Chapter 10

“I understand that Lieutenant Vorberg plans to accept both his promotion and permanent move into the analysis department of ImpSec,” Gregor noted conversationally.

He sat across from Miles and the still convalescent Ivan out in the back gardens of the Residence.

“Mm, the presence of the Ni Hon doctor here in Vorbarra Sultana has certainly made things easier for him,” Miles noted.

“Are they together then? I had wondered,” Gregor inquired in surprise.

“Well, Vorberg confided in me that he hadn’t actually spoken to her until the night of the chemical attack in the metro. He was just in the right place at the right time it seems,” Miles noted.

“To think that if he was still a courier-“ Miles began but was cut off.

“Miles please, are you about to claim that you were doing him a favor by blowing off his legs,” Ivan asked sarcastically.

He’d been very grouchy since he’d awakened from his chemically induced coma with a new set of lungs and a mother who was more protective than usual. 

“Sometimes things just happen for a reason,” Miles said.

“If I shove a cream puff up your nose will that have happened for a reason,” Ivan asked peevishly.

Gregor smiled, “and upset my pastry chef by wasting a perfectly good cream puff? I certainly can’t allow that.”

Ivan still looked unwell, he hadn’t even threatened to dump Miles in any ice water during this visit. But then it was to be a few weeks before his lungs finished growing inside him and he would be back to a more normal level of activity.

As for the death of Colonel Anders and the upcoming execution of Major Olgav, these losses did create holes in ImpSec and Op’s personnel roster. Both departments were working to fill these vacancies, a replacement for Major Olgav had already been selected and one to take over Colonel Ander’s work was set to be formally appointed shortly. 

Ambassador Nakahara had been shipped back to Ni Hon to be executed. He was being replaced by a more youthful ambassadoress with a much sunnier disposition, though Gregor suspected she was equally as shrewd.

Realistically, danger was always present and on the horizon. But for the moment it was safe enough to enjoy the soft breeze and flowers around them.


End file.
